OF  ST.  Til) 


"v. 


EDEN  PHILLPOT 


n 


THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

RIVERSIDE 


BEQUEST  OF 


CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 

NEW  YORK   •    BOSTON   •    CHICAGO  •    DALLAS 
ATLANTA   •    SAN    FRANCISCO 

MACMILLAN  &  CO.,  Limited 

LONDON   •    BOMBAY  •    CALCtTTTA 
MELBOURNE 

THE  MACMILLAN  CO.  OF  CANADA,  Ltdu 

TORONTO 


CHRONICLES  OF 
ST.  TID 


BY 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 

/'I 

Author  of 
"Old  Delabole,"  "Brunei's  Tower,"  etc. 


THE  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 
1918 


A.II  rights  reserved 


CI  7 


Copyright,  1918 
By  the  MACMILLAN  COMPANY 


Set  up  and  printed.     Published,  February,  1918 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

The  Church  Grim 1 

Silver  Thimble  Farm 31 

The  Dream 52 

The  House  in  Two  Parishes 65 

The  Reed  Rond         83 

The  Rare  Poppy 109 

The  Revolver 128 

"  The  Green  Man  "  and  "  The  Tiger  "   .      .      .      .157 

The  Legacy 179 

The  Saint  and  the  Lovers 196 

The  Better  Man 217 

The  Lie  to  the  Dead 233 

Farmer  Sleep's  Savings 251 

Jenifer  and  the  Twain 271 

Panting  After   Christopher    , 292 

A  Touch  of  "  Fearfulness  " 306 


CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 


CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

THE  CHURCH  GRIM 


Cornwall's  a  place  that  idden  very  well  known  by  for- 
eigners, and  there's  many  things  happen  there  that  sur- 
prise people  a  good  deal  when  they  hear  about  them. 
And  this  identical  tale  may  well  raise  the  hair  on  a  per- 
son's head,  for  it  is  a  savage,  strange  tale,  in  a  manner 
of  speaking,  and  goes  far  back  to  past  time.  In  fact, 
the  roots  of  the  tale  spring  from  another  age  than  ours, 
when  the  folk  believed  in  all  manner  of  dark  and  doubt- 
ful contrivances  that  you  never  hear  tell  about  now; 
though  whether  these  hidden  powers  be  still  working 
in  secret  and  unseen  amongst  us,  or  whether  the  virtue 
be  gone  out  of  them,  or  whether  they've  vanished  off  the 
earth  altogether  at  the  will  of  their  Creator,  be  ques- 
tions far  beyond  us  common  mortals  to  answer. 

But  one  thing  is  clear  as  light  to  a  thinking  man, 
and  that  is  that  our  ancient  forbears,  who  lifted  our 
churches,  had  a  very  different  set  of  opinions  from  us, 
who  worship  in  'em  to-day.  I  doubt  they  was  a  more 
religious  people  than  us :  anyway,  they  believed  a  lot  of 
things  we  shy  at;  and  though  they  may  not  have  been 
so  terrible  clever  as  this  generation,  one  sort  of  clever- 


2  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

ness  they  certainly  had  which  we  have  lost.  And  that 
was  to  take  life  easier  and  get  more  fun  and  happiness 
into  their  days.  'Twas  machinery  and  Oliver  Cromwell 
ruined  "  Merrie  England."  And  the  beastly  machinery 
you  can't  blame,  for  it  ain't  got  neither  brains  nor  soul ; 
so  the  blame  must  go  to  them  rogues  wdio  cut  off  the 
King's  head  and  played  hell  with  this  country  in  the 
name  of  the  Lord. 

We  was  always  very  proud  of  our  church  at  St. 
Luce's.  'Tis  a  little,  old  church  town  a  few  mile  from 
St.  Tid,  where  the  slate  quarries  gape  in  the  midst  of 
the  earth ;  but  St.  Tid's  church  be  a  thing  of  ^^esterday, 
w^hereas  ours  of  St.  Luce  dates  back  to  the  times  of  the 
Seventh  Henry,  or  some  such  far-away  age  as  that. 
'Twas  a  funny  old  place,  and  stories  was  still  handed 
down  about  it,  and  one  fine  yarn  reported  that  a  very 
rich  and  rare  treasure  had  been  hid  in  the  church;  and, 
of  course,  nobody  could  say  it  wasn't  true. 

But  you  must  hear  the  tale  because  the  strange  story 
I  am  going  to  tell  you  hangs  thereon.  In  fact,  they  be 
one,  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for 
the  first,  the  second  could  never  have  fallen  out. 

The  lord  of  the  Manor,  when  King  Charles,  the 
Martyr,  reigned  over  us,  was  a  hero  by  the  name  of  Sir 
Tobias  Polglaze  —  a  famous  knight  who  struck  for  the 
King  and  very  near  lost  his  life  up  country  at  Bristol, 
when  Fairfax  beat  Prince  Rupert.  Then,  seeing  all  was 
lost.  Sir  Tobias  came  back  home  along  to  Cornwall,  and 
knew  afore  long  that  he'd  be  like  to  lose  his  houses  and 
manors,  if  not  his  head.  So  the  good  knight  fell  to 
praj^ers,  and  the  story  went  that  St.  Luce  herself  came 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  3 

to  him  and  bade  the  man  bring  his  treasures  to  mother 
church  and  hide  'em  therein  safe  and  snug  against  the 
wrath  to  come.  For  in  them  wild  days  it  was  a  very 
common  thing  for  rich  folk  to  leave  their  jewels  in  the 
keeping  of  the  churches,  because  they  were  accounted 
the  safest  store-houses. 

Whether  the  knight  actually  buried  his  treasures  in 
the  church  at  the  saint's  advice,  or  no,  cannot  be  told, 
though  what  soon  followed  belongs  to  history,  and  it  is 
set  down  in  books  how  Sir  Tobias  Polglaze,  a  few  weeks 
after  that  time,  again  fought  against  Fairfax  in  the 
West,  and  at  last  fell  gloriously  for  his  ruined  King. 
They  brought  the  man's  bones  back  to  his  native  land, 
and  he  was  buried  at  St.  Luce  under  the  chancel,  and 
the  brass  set  upon  his  grave  may  still  be  read;  for  our 
last  vicar,  being  a  scholar  and  a  very  learned  creature, 
took  good  care  that  such  ancient  monuments  were  well 
cherished. 

So  there  it  was,  and  it  looked  as  if  it  might  be  true 
that  Sir  Tobias  had  obeyed  the  saint  and  hid  his  chief 
treasures  in  the  church  afore  he  went  off  to  death  or 
victory;  but  there  was  nothing  to  prove  it,  and  some 
people  believed  and  some  did  not,  according  to  their 
bent  of  mind.  Some  thought  the  story  was  true,  but 
that  the  precious  things  had  doubtless  been  taken  away 
after  the  death  of  Sir  Tobias ;  while  others,  including 
the  Reverend  Tremayne,  our  parson,  in  the  days  of 
which  I  write,  held  stoutly  to  it  that  the  treasure  might 
be  there,  where  Sir  Toby  had  put  it  at  the  direction  of 
St.  Luce.  His  reason  was  a  good  one,  you  may  say ; 
because,   in   the  first  place,  the  knight  was  known  to 


4.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

have  been  a  bachelor,  in  itself  a  remarkable  thing  in 
them  days ;  for  bachelor  men  be  a  modem  invention, 
if  I  hear  true,  and  in  the  olden  times  they  were  as 
rare  as  white  crows.  And  they  didn't  bear  a  very 
good  character  neither,  though  today  I  could  name 
half  a  score  of  men  in  this  parish  alone,  who  carry  the 
bachelor  state  without  suspicion  and  are  just  so  re- 
spectable and  well  thought  upon  as  the  best  of  us. 
And  in  the  second  place,  you  see,  Sir  Toby  had  died  a 
sudden  death,  and  perhaps  never  had  no  time  to  tell 
his  secrets,  if  he  had  got  any.  And  so  it  seemed  a  fair 
argument  that  if  he'd  hid  his  treasure  where  St,  Luce 
directed  —  doubtless  a  pretty  cunning  hiding-place  — 
it  had  been  done  for  the  saint's  good  purpose.  Of 
course,  that  purpose  might  have  been  already  carried 
out  after  so  many  years ;  but  the  Reverend  Tremayne  — 
a  very  sanguine  sort  of  man  where  Cornish  saints  were 
concerned  —  had  an  idea  that  the  treasure  might  still 
be  there ;  and  he  took  a  great  pride  in  the  story  and 
liked  to  believe  it,  and  was  cruel  vexed  if  people  laughed 
at  it  as  a  vain  invention. 

So  there  it  stood  —  a  yarn  to  take  or  leave  —  and 
then,  after  so  many  long  years,  that  happened  to  settle 
the  vexed  question  and  put  it  to  rest  for  ever  more  in  a 
very  queer  sort  of  fashion. 

II 

A  name  clings  to  a  district  like  mud  to  a  hob-nailed 
boot,  and  though  Sir  Tobias  had  been  gone  for  hundreds 
and  hundreds  of  years  and  his  lands  had  passed  to  many 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  5 

families  in  course  of  time,  yet  there  were  Polglazes  still 
in  St.  Luce  and  round  about.  But  they  wasn't  of  the 
quality  —  just  humble  people  on  the  land  for  the  most 
part.  A  good  few  of  that  name  worked  in  the  quarries 
of  St.  Tid  also ;  indeed,  'twas  an  everyday  name  in 
Cornwall.  And  we'd  even  got  a  Tobias,  too,  the  son 
of  Mary  Polglaze ;  and  she  was  a  widow  and  he  was  her 
prop  and  stay. 

An  odd  sort  of  chap  —  in  fact  a  very  unusual  pat- 
tern of  young  man,  and  people  couldn't  believe  some- 
times that  his  blood  had  run  through  his  father's  veins, 
for  the  father  had  been  a  terrible,  humble  sort  of  chap, 
as  broke  stones  and  tacked  hedges  and  put  his  mark 
to  a  document  when  necessary ;  for  he  never  learned  to 
read  to  his  dying  day,  nor  yet  to  write.  But  the  boy 
had  a  brain  very  farways  out  of  the  common,  and  was 
a  high-strung,  nervy  sort  of  chap  with  a  hand  like  a 
gentleman  and  a  quick  way  and  very  civil  manners  and 
a  most  inquiring  mind.  In  fact,  he  might  have  made  a 
name  for  himself  and  been  the  pride  of  his  native  village 
if  he  hadn't  been  such  a  lazy  good-for-nought ;  but  his 
nature  was  blended  of  mixed  material;  he  weren't  like 
his  mother,  nor  yet  his  father,  but  a  sort  of  throw- 
back; and  no  doubt,  if  it  had  been  possible  to  trace  his 
havage  for  a  few  generations  into  the  past,  we  should 
have  found  some  remarkable  character  had  had  a  hand 
in  Toby  on  one  side  or  t'other.  His  qualities  were 
strong;  but  they  balanced,  and  so  left  the  man  pretty 
much  like  other  men. 

And  that  was  unfortunate  for  him,  because,  with  all 
his  rare  cleverness,  if  he'd  been  a  trier  instead  of  a 


6  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

slacker,  he  might,  have  gone  far;  and  if  a  lazy  nature 
and  a  proper  hatred  of  anything  that  looked  like  work 
hadn't  counter-balanced  his  pride  in  himself  and  his 
consciousness  that  he  was  cleverer  and  quicker-witted 
than  most  other  young  fellows,  none  can  tell  where  he'd 
have  reached  up  to.  Again,  with  his  good  brains  and 
loose  morals,  he  only  lacked  one  thing  to  have  made  him 
a  nuisance  to  law-abiding  people.  In  fact,  he  might 
have  been  a  dangerous  sort  of  character  if  he'd  had 
pluck.  But  he  was  a  coward,  and  I  believe  that  acci- 
dent of  nature  stood  between  Toby  and  a  good  lot  of 
wickedness.  As  a  smart  young  apty-cock  of  a  boy, 
he  was  a  proper  craftsman  at  sending  the  other  boys 
through  the  hedge  to  strub  the  apple-trees ;  and  he'd 
minch  from  school  and  find  the  skill  and  cunning  every 
time,  so  long  as  some  other  young  rip  found  the  pluck. 
And  it  stood  to  him  as  he  grew  up,  for  the  cowardly  are 
cautious,  and  Toby  always  came  out  on  the  safe  side 
of  the  fence  both  as  man  and  boy. 

People  knew  his  ways  and  didn't  like  him  over-much, 
for  they  felt  there  was  something  to  him  they  couldn't 
measure.  They  dreaded  his  cleverness ;  but  they  em- 
ploj^ed  him,  for  he  was  a  thatcher  by  trade  and  a  very 
clever  man  with  reed  and  straw.  And  first-rate  thatch- 
ers  were  coming  to  be  a  rare  race  of  men,  even  in  those 
times ;  so  knowing  that  a  man,  whose  business  lies  in 
thatching  ricks  and  cottages,  can't  do  much  harm  to 
the  community,  they  kept  him  employed.  He  was  an 
artist  in  a  way,  and  he'd  labour  b}""  fits  and  starts  and 
do  beautiful  work  when  he  was  in  a  mind  to.  And  if  he 
didn't  feel  like  it,  then  he  wouldn't  lift  a  finger,  and 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  7 

nothing  would  make  him.  He  was  tricky  about  prices, 
too,  and  you  had  to  get  your  bargain  in  black  and 
white  with  Toby,  or  else  he'd  be  very  like  to  go  back  on 
it  when  the  work  was  done. 

But  he  also  had  a  fancy  for  queer,  old  book-larning 
and  fansical  nonsense  about  the  old  days  and  old 
places.  And  it  was  that  that  proved  to  be  liis  best 
strength,  for  he  won  over  Parson  Tremayne  from  his 
earliest  youth  and  got  on  the  reverend  gentleman's 
blind  side  before  he'd  left  the  Sunday  school.  Not  that 
it  was  a  very  difficult  thing  to  do,  for,  like  many  very 
learned  men,  parson  was  kind  and  trusting;  and  if  any 
lad  promised  to  make  a  scholar  and  took  an  interest  in 
the  church  bench-ends  and  old  stones  and  the  inscrip- 
tions on  the  bells  in  the  belfr^',  or  any  old  rubbige  like 
that,  then  he  might  be  as  sly  and  double-faced  as  you 
please,  but  the  Reverend  Tremayne  would  hear  no  word 
against  him. 

Toby  Polglaze  once  found  a  splinter  of  flint  up  over 
on  Brown  Willy  —  the  great  tor  that  crowns  they 
lonely,  horny-winky,  old  moors  eastward  of  our  vil- 
lage. He  liked  to  moon  about  up  there  when  he  was  a 
lad,  among  the  cairns  and  "  long  stones,"  though  he 
always  feared  the  wild-haired  cattle  with  gert  horns 
that  roamed  there,  and  wouldn't  go  nigh  'em  for  any- 
thing. The  flint  was  just  a  little  flake  fashioned  in 
shape  of  an  arrow-head,  and  made  by  the  heathen  old 
men  long  afore  the  dawn  of  honest  history.  And  be- 
ing flint  it  couldn't  perish.  A  rabbit  scratching  had 
thrown  it  out  of  its  hole,  and  Toby  came  across  it  with 
great  wonder  and  joy.     Well,  you'd  think  'twas  noth- 


8  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

ing  to  make  no  fuss  about,  for  if  the  old  men  shot  ar- 
rows with  flint  heads  to  'em,  they  was  bound  to  come 
to  hand  again  some  day ;  but  he  raised  a  proper 
upstore  about  it  and  took  liis  trash  to  parson,  and 
the  Reverend  swore  by  liim  from  that  day  onward. 
In  fact,  he  always  took  his  part  against  the  parish, 
if  need  be,  ever  after,  and  made  a  lot  more  fuss  than 
he  would  have  made  if  Toby  had  found  a  coal  mine, 
or  some  such  useful  contrivance.  I  do  believe,  after 
that,  if  young  Polglaze  had  broke  loose  and  knocked 
somebody  on  the  head,  or  set  fire  to  a  wheat-rick,  or 
what  not,  that  Parson  Tremayne  would  still  have 
supported  him,  and  held  it  no  great  odds,  and  reck- 
oned most  steadfast  that  a  young  youth  as  could 
bring  him  a  heathen  arrow-head  from  mid-most  moor, 
must  be  a  wonder  and  quite  above  law  and  order  and 
such  like  everyday  ideas. 

He  properly  spoiled  the  thatcher,  and  poured  his 
own  learning  into  him  until  Toby  knew  everything 
about  the  church,  and  the  ancient  remains  round  about, 
and  the  tin-streamers'  clearings  on  the  moor,  and  the 
hut  circles  and  barrows  and  the  logging  stones,  and  all 
the  other  silliness  from  savage  times.  For  my  part,  I 
think  such  stuff  better  forgot ;  but,  once  led  away  in  this 
manner,  Tobias  began  to  make  his  own  discoveries,  too, 
and  took  the  greatest  pleasure  in  chucking  his  work 
and  showing  curious  things  to  the  holiday  people,  who 
came  in  summer-time  to  see  the  quarries  of  St.  Tid  and 
King  Arthur's  Castle,  at  Tintagel,  and  such  like  won- 
drous sights.  He  got  money  by  it,  Toby  did  —  a  good 
penny,  I  reckon  —  for  he  was  a  mixture  of  the  dove  and 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  9 

the  sarpent,  you  might  say ;  and  when  he  found  the  flint 
fragments  and  old  stone  implements  was  worth  a  trifle, 
he  always  seemed  to  have  a  few  on  hand  for  any  fool  that 
would  purchase  them.  He'd  sell  an  ancient  granite  tin- 
mould  from  the  moor,  or  a  flint  arrow-head,  or  a  stone 
butterfly  from  the  quarries,  or  a  brave  lot  of  Cornish 
diamonds  and  many  other  curiosities ;  though  whether 
some  of  'em  was  as  ancient  as  they  looked,  only  he  knew. 

But  Vicar,  he  held  by  Toby  and  uplifted  him  tremen- 
dous as  he  grew  to  manhood.  Then  he'd  go  digging 
and  delving  with  his  reverence  for  rubbish  in  the  tombs 
of  the  old  men  on  the  moors ;  and  he'd  read  the  lessons  in 
church  of  a  Sunday  sometimes,  besides  taking  round  the 
alms-dish  after.  And  all  tliis  made  a  better  man  of 
Tobias  in  some  directions,  no  doubt,  though  those  who 
knew  him  best  were  much  afraid  he  did  these  holy  things 
for  business  more  than  pleasure,  and  to  keep  in  -wdth  the 
vicarage. 

Young  Polglaze  was  tall,  slim,  and  lantern-jawed, 
with  very  fine  black  eyes,  slack  black  hair,  and  a  black 
moustache.  He  was  a  light-boned  man  and  not  sturdy 
and  stuggy  like  the  most  of  us.  But  he  was  a  real  good- 
looking  chap  with  an  air  about  him,  though  he  had 
rather  a  small  voice  and  turned  his  eyes  away  for  the 
most  part  when  he  spoke  to  you.  But  his  language  was 
beyond  anything,  and  he'd  use  book  words  like  second 
nature.  And  he  was  vain  as  a  peacock  really,  though 
he  pretended  not  to  be. 

When  he  was  up  home  five-and-twenty,  or  there-about, 
fate  over-got  Tobias  in  the  usual  fashion  and  he  fell  in 
love  with  a  bowerly  girl  by  the  name  of  Netty  Sleep. 


10  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

She  was  Simon  Sleep's  only  one,  and  he  was  a  small 
farmer  down  Padstow  way.  He  only  rented,  however, 
and  was  always  hard  up,  and  feared  quarter-day  worse 
than  death  or  judgment. 

The  courting  went  very  suent  and  they  made  a  nice- 
looking  pair,  for  she  was  straight  and  well  set-up  and 
comely,  with  rosy  cheeks  and  a  good  mound  of  flax-white 
hair.  Netty  seemed  rather  well  suited  to  the  young 
man,  too,  being  a  bit  devious  and  downy  herself,  and 
they  had  their  little  jokes  at  the  expense  of  us  every- 
day people,  I  doubt  not.  Besides,  she  was  quick  to 
see  his  fine  parts  and  well-turned  wrists  and  ankles,  and 
she  flattered  him  a  lot,  and  even  talked  stuff  about  the 
ancient  Polglaze  race,  and  told  Toby,  no  doubt,  if 
it  could  be  seen  into,  'twould  be  found  he  came  of  very 
fine  stock  in  the  far  past.  All  of  which  things  he  was 
very  willing  to  credit.  But  Farmer  Sleep  proved  not 
quite  of  the  same  mind,  for  he  counted  Netty  as  about 
his  only  hope,  and  trusted  she  might  be  good  for  a 
chimne3f-corner  in  a  snug  farm  house  some  day.  He 
was  a  widow-man,  and  knew  that  Avhen  he  got  too  old 
to  work,  the  Union  would  be  his  portion,  unless  his  girl 
made  a  good  match  and  married  a  husband  strong 
enough  to  help  liim  over  his  latter  end. 

But  there  didn't  seem  no  great  promise  of  no  chim- 
ney-corner with  Toby  Polglaze,  for  Toby  was  poor  him- 
self, thougli  some  whispered  he  was  putting  by  a  little 
on  the  quiet.  At  any  rate,  he  wasn't  prepared  to  offer 
Netty  anything  more  exciting  than  to  share  his  wid- 
owed mother's  cottage  for  the  present;  so  Sleep  turned 
him  down  short  and  sharp,  and  even  went  so  far  as  to 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  11 

say  it  was  fair  impudence  such  a  poor  man  offered  for 
his  girl.  But  Netty,  of  course,  was  poor  as  a  church 
mouse,  too,  and  she  wanted  Tobias  and  meant  to  go  to 
him,  even  if  she  had  no  more  than  a  smicket  to  her  back. 
The  farmer's  views  weighed  light  with  both  of  them, 
therefore ;  and  presently  the  girl  got  talking  a  lot  of 
hopeful  nonsense,  and  the  man  was  only  too  ready  to 
believe  it.  They  had  no  particular  ideas ;  but  a  vague 
opinion,  which  started  in  her  mind,  found  very  quick 
root-hold  in  his ;  and  then  that  happened  to  turn  the 
opinion  into  a  belief,  and  the  belief  into  a  shadowy  idea 
for  action.  For  such  is  the  power  of  love  that  it  makes 
even  the  weak  man  braver  than  his  wont  and  fires  the 
coward  to  take  risks  he'd  never  dream  about  in  his 
everyday  senses. 

First,  however,  when  he  found  Simon  Sleep  flouted 
him,  Toby,  seeing  no  immediate  trick  to  get  round 
farmer,  went  to  his  life-long  friend.  Parson  Tremayne, 
in  good  hope  to  find  support  in  that  quarter  and  very 
like  a  bit  of  money,  too.  But  he  drew  a  blank  there, 
much  to  his  surprise,  for  the  reverend  gentleman,  though 
a  Christian  to  his  toenails,  was  human  and  could  be  as 
selfish  as  humbler  men  when  touched  on  a  tender  point. 
And  he  feared  that  Toby's  great  usefulness  to  him  would 
be  gone  for  ever  if  he  took  a  wife  and  became  a  family 
man  and  had  a  woman  and  children  round  his  neck. 
Parson  was  a  bachelor  himself,  being  far  too  taken  up 
with  old  stones  and  old  books  and  old  saints  to  want  a 
wife ;  and  so,  when  he  heard  what  Polglaze  was  minded 
to  do,  and  how  he  was  tokened  to  Netty  Sleep,  and  how 
her  father  refused  him  until  he  could  show  five  shillings 


12  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

a  week  more  wages,  the  reverend  took  it  in  a  very  un- 
favourable spirit  and  didn't  offer  Toby  assistance  or 
consolation.     In  fact,  he  turned  proper  ugly  about  it. 

"  This  is  moonshine  and  madness  in  you,  Polglaze," 
said  the  good  man.  "  Far,  far  too  young,  and,  I  should 
hope,  too  intelligent  are  you  to  dream  of  any  such  reck- 
less step  for  many  years  to  come.  I  will  be  no  party 
to  it;  on  the  contrary,  I  protest;  I  forbid;  I  urge  you, 
as  one  to  whom  you  owe  much,  to  put  this  thing  away 
from  you  as  a  temptation  of  the  devil.  Your  destiny 
lies  on  a  higher  plane  than  marriage,  Tobias  Polglaze ; 
you  have  natural  gifts  of  a  rare  order;  to  hide  them, 
under  such  a  bushel  as  marriage  so  often  proves  to  be, 
would  lose  you  my  friendship  and  your  own  good  con- 
science. Think  no  more  of  it,  for  nothing  so  unfortu- 
nate as  a  wife  could  happen  to  you  at  present.  Soon 
you  will  be  wise  enough  to  know  better  and  live  to  thank 
me  for  preserving  you  from  the  state." 

So  he  got  no  comfort  there,  and  more  did  Netty ;  and 
she,  being  a  hot-tempered  girl,  took  it  as  a  personal 
insult  to  herself.  So  they  was  turning  over  the  subject 
and  working  themselves  into  a  very  rash  and  reckless 
spirit,  when  a  remarkable  thing  fell  out  at  the  church 
and  presently  landed  Toby  in  the  adventure  of  his  life. 
In  fact,  it  changed  the  colour  of  his  days  for  ever ;  and 
some,  looking  ahead,  said  that  perhaps,  after  all,  it  was 
good  for  the  man  and  showed  Providence  knew  his 
character  and  acted  according;  wliile  others,  blessed 
with  less  faith  and  trust  in  the  Almight}^,  thought  quite 
othemise,  and  reckoned  that  Toby  had  got  a  bit  over 
and  above  what  he  deserved. 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  13 

For  that  matter,  every  man's  lot  do  look  unequal  to 
human  eyes.  And  who  can  say  where  the  shoe  pinches 
but  him  who  wears  it,  and  who  knows  the  cupboard 
where  the  skeleton's  hid  but  him  that  have  got  the  key 
in  his  pocket?  At  any  rate,  there's  skeletons  and  skele- 
tons, and  poor  Toby's,  when  it  came,  was  a  terrible 
wisht,  monstrous  sort  of  skeleton,  without  a  doubt. 

in 

Parson  Tremayne  got  a  legacy  left  to  him,  and  told 
us  all  about  it  in  his  next  sermon ;  for  the  man  was 
open  as  the  face  of  the  sky  and  hadn't  a  secret  in  the 
world.  His  sermons  were  often  no  more  than  friendly 
talks  to  the  parish  assembled,  and  if  he  dressed  us  down 
one  Sunday,  so  like  as  not  he'd  tell  us  some  of  his  own 
faults  the  next.  He  never  hesitated  to  mention  man, 
woman,  or  child,  by  name,  from  the  pulpit,  and  he'd 
think  nothing  of  axing  old  Wesley  Retallack,  the  clerk, 
a  question  in  the  middle  of  service,  or  telling  us  to  ope, 
or  shut  the  winders,  or  not  to  blow  our  noses  so  loud, 
or  what  not.  He  was  a  man  who  made  himself  one  of  us 
in  church,  as  well  as  out,  and  he'd  begin  about  the 
weather,  or  the  crops,  or  the  lambing  season,  or  the  pil- 
chard fishery,  and  so  on,  and  then  soar  to  higher  things 
by  gradual  degrees.  And  a  wonderful  practical  man 
and  nothing  funny  to  him,  you  understand  —  not  really 
—  though  strangers,  as  might  be  sitting  under  him  for 
the  first  time,  would  often  very  near  die  of  laughing, 
because  he  was  that  rare  and  uncommon,  and  different 
from  other  holy  men.     I  remember  once  he  caught  sight 


14.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

of  Simon  Sleep,  and  axed  him  right  out,  after  the  sec- 
ond lesson,  if  it  was  true  he'd  turned  off  young  Noah 
Nanjulian  for  picking  blackberries  after  Sunday 
School,  and  farmer  answered  from  his  place  in  the 
congregation :  — 

"  Yes,  your  honour,  I  have  done  so." 

"  And  are  you  wiser,  Simon,  than  One  Who  let  the 
disciples  pick  ears  of  com  on  the  Sabbath.''  No,  my 
son,  you  are  not,"  says  his  reverence.  "  I  can  assure 
you  all,  there's  no  harm  for  lad  or  maid  to  pick  a  nut  or 
blackberry  on  the  Lord's  Day,  if  lie,  or  she,  has  been  to 
church  and  Sunday  School  first.  And  I  hope,  Simon 
Sleep,  you'll  reconsider  it  and  take  Noah  back 
again." 

"  Certainly  I  will  do  so,  and  glad  to,  if  your  honour 
says  so,"  replied  the  farmer;  and  with  that  the  Vicar 
says,  "  Good  for  you,  Simon,"  and  goes  on  with  the 
service. 

So  you  may  be  sure,  when  he  got  his  come-by-chance 
of  two  thousand  pounds  from  an  old  friend,  our  parson 
told  us  all  about  it.  And  more  than  that,  for  he  said 
how  he  was  going  to  spend  the  windfall.  And  some 
thought  he  was  right,  but  many  didn't  hold  with  the 
idea.  And  moi*e  didn't  I,  for  two  thousand  pounds  is 
a  proper  dollop  of  money  —  good  for  seventy-five  pound 
a  year  for  evermore  in  wise  hands ;  but  he  was  going  to 
spend  his  capital,  having  no  more  use  for  money  himself 
than  a  baim-owl. 

Upon  the  church  of  St.  Luce  he  intended  to  pour 
out  his  cash,  and  he  got  a  faculty,  or  some  such  thing, 
from  the  Bishop,  I  heard  tell,  and  set  out  with  a  light 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  15 

heart  to  put  the  House  of  God  out  of  winders,  and  turn 
the  ancient  place  upside  down. 

"  It  has  always  been  my  hope  and  wish,  though  I 
never  expected  to  have  the  power,"  he  told  us.  "  But 
now  Providence,  doubtless  knowing  the  worthy  purpose 
in  my  heart,  has  sent  this  loving  thought  of  a  dear 
old  friend,  at  rest  in  the  Lord ;  and  he  knew  well  enough 
to  what  use  I  should  put  his  magnificent  bequest. 

"  In  a  word,  friends,  I  am  going  to  restore  our  beau- 
tiful church,  and  by  that  I  do  not  design  to  make  it  hid- 
eous, which  restoration  too  often  means.  I  shall  not 
sweep  away  the  noble  efforts  of  those  who  raised  this 
fane  in  Tudor  times ;  but  I  shall  destroy  the  horrors 
that  sprang  up  here  at  the  so-called  '  restoration '  of 
many  years  ago.  I  shall  endeavour  to  bring  back  the 
purity  of  line  and  the  chaste  severity  that  obtained 
before  certain  misguided  sons  of  Mulciber  ruined  St. 
Luce's  in  the  reign  of  Anne  —  a  reign  architecturally 
distressing  to  all  right-minded  antiquaries." 

That's  how  he  let  us  have  it ;  and  then  he  told  us  what 
he  was  going  to  do  ;  and  among  other  things  he  proposed 
to  remove  a  very  peculiar  and  ancient  lump  of  stone 
and  mortar  from  which  sprang  one  of  the  pillars  of  the 
nave.  It  was  an  unsightly  block  supposed  to  be  a 
tomb ;  but  there  was  nought  to  show  it  —  no  name  or 
memorial  stone  nor  nothing  —  and  the  lump,  besides 
being  an  eyesore,  had  rather  a  baleful  sort  of  repute 
among  us.  Nobody  could  say  whyfore,  yet  to  sit 
alongside  it  made  a  body  feel  wisht  and  brought  bad 
luck ;  and,  indeed,  many  wouldn't  go  nigh  it,  for  people 
held  to  it  some  bad  influence  came  out  of  it ;  and  if  any- 


16  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

body  got  a  chill  in  church,  or  a  touch  of  rheumatics, 
or  even  the  headache,  you'd  always  find  they'd  been 
sitting  by  "  the  pile,"  as  it  was  called.  And  some  even 
said  it  meant  death  inside  the  year  to  sit  alongside  of  it, 
and  many  of  us  wouldn't  go  nearer  than  twelve  chairs 
off  at  any  time.  But  the  Reverend  Tremayne  gave  no 
ear  to  these  superstitions,  and  was  very  vexed  when  he 
heard  of  'em.  He  had  an  idea  about  it,  which  he  kept 
to  himself,  and  he'd  hear  no  grumbling.  He  often  made 
the  school  children  sit  there,  and  it  didn't  seem  to  hurt 
them  like  it  did  the  grown-ups.  In  fact,  they  liked  it 
very  well,  because  behind  the  pile  they  was  out  of  sight 
of  Parson's  reading  desk,  and  all  the  cheerfuller  for 
that. 

Now,  however,  it  was  hoped  the  unsightly  lump  would 
go,  and  if  it  hid  a  mystery,  we  were  soon  like  to  know  it. 
But  presently  we  learned  that,  far  from  making  our 
church  any  warmer  and  smarter  and  more  comfortable, 
as  we  thought  the  restoration  meant.  Vicar  intended  to 
pull  down  a  lot  of  mason's  work,  and  do  away  with  a 
gallery  at  the  west  end,  and  open  out  the  little  north 
aisle,  which  had  been  walled  up  for  a  century,  if  not 
longer.  Nobody  wanted  it,  for  the  place  was  more  than 
large  enough  for  all  who  came  thereto.  Indeed,  the 
Wesleyan  chapels  was  gaining  on  us  year  after  year; 
but  the  reverend  gentleman  had  his  own  ideas,  and  they 
was  exceeding  different  from  ours.  He  told  us  also 
that  there  was  a  painting  over  the  east  end  window 
under  some  ancient  whitewash;  and  this,  too,  he  was 
going  to  restore  if  it  could  be  done.  Then  there  was  the 
waggon  roof  with  bosses  carded  in  the  ancient  arms  of 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  17 

the  bygone  family  of  Polyglaze  —  an  airey-mouse^  with 
wings  outspread.  For  the  most  part  they'd  rotted 
away,  but  Parson  knew  all  about  'em  and  was  going  to 
have  'em  all  carved  again  in  fine  oak.  And  many  such- 
like things  he  was  out  for.  In  fact,  the  man  properly 
let  himself  loose  on  our  church,  and  presently,  after  a 
score  of  chaps  got  to  work,  and  he  found  his  money  was 
holding  out  well,  he  sprang  still  more  fansical  notions, 
and  started  exploring  the  walls  and  probing  the  floors, 
and  a  lot  of  little  games  that  hadn't  notliing  to  do  with 
restoring  St.  Luce's,  but  only  wasted  money  and  minis- 
tered to  his  own  pleasure  and  curiosity.  It  got  on  the 
nerves  of  some  of  the  old  worshippers  after  a  bit,  be- 
cause there  was  a  cruel  lot  of  dirt  in  the  place,  and  the 
draughts  came  in  through  the  holes,  and  the  organ  was 
stopped  and  the  pipes  took  down  to  be  cleaned,  and  it 
looked  as  if  law  and  order  would  never  come  back  to  the 
holy  building.  In  fact,  we  was  all  in  a  miz-maze  to  see 
such  a  sight.  But  Parson  told  us  what  was  doing  every 
Sunday,  and  kept  hopeful  as  a  cricket;  and  now  and 
then,  if  a  workman  found  a  bit  of  wrought  stone,  or  an 
old  nail,  or  a  coffin-handle,  or  what  not,  liis  reverence 
properly  glowed  over  the  pulpit  cushion  and  cheered  us 
up,  and  always  threw  out  great  hopes  of  what  the  next 
week  might  bring  forth.  He  was  more  than  a  thought 
crafty  over  it,  and  whetted  our  appetites,  and  raised 
our  drooping  spirits  by  reminding  us  of  the  old  tale  of 
Sir  Tobias  and  St.  Luce,  and  declaring  that,  for  his 
part,  he  never  had  said,  and  never  would  say,  there  was 
nothing  in  it. 

1  Air  ey -mouse.     Bat. 


18  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  These  oral  traditions  are  often  founded  on  truth," 
he  declared  to  us  ;  "  and  though  it  is  the  present  fashion, 
among  the  young  principally,  to  scoff  at  the  wisdom  of 
their  forefathers  and  vaunt  the  wit  of  their  own  empty 
heads,  yet  let  me  tell  them  that  the  difference  between 
youth  and  age  is  this.  The  young  men  think  the  old 
men  fools ;  but  the  old  men  know  the  young  men  are.  In 
a  word,  then,  the  opportunity  is  such  that  I  should  be 
disregarding  my  duty  if  I  neglected  to  verify  the  ancient 
story,  together  with  other  profound  problems  our  res- 
toration enables  us  to  solve.  With  respect  to  the  treas- 
ure of  Sir  Tobias,  we  may  or  may  not  succeed  in  dis- 
covering it.  The  knight's  possessions  may  have  long 
been  removed  by  our  forerunners,  and  it  may  have  been 
the  privilege  of  an  earlier  generation  to  make  good  the 
saintly  story  —  possibly  the  architects  of  Anne,  though 
I  should  grieve  to  think  so.  On  the  other  hand,  we 
ourselves  may  be  the  fortunate  antiquaries  to  establish 
the  truth  of  the  legend  and  lift  it  from  the  misty  shad- 
ows of  a  bygone  age  into  the  frank  daylight  of  the  nine- 
teenth century." 

He  rambled  on  like  this,  with  such  a  hopeful  glow  on 
his  red  face  and  white  whiskers,  that  a  good  few  grew 
excited  besides  himself;  though,  as  our  clerk,  Wesley 
Retail ack,  said  behind  his  back,  if  he  found  a  sackful 
of  sovereigns  and  a  dozen  golden  crowns  and  candle- 
sticks, he  didn't  see  how  us  of  the  congregation  would 
get  any  benefit  of  it,  except  the  fame. 

'*  And  when  you're  in  sight  of  four-score,  fame's  but 
a  dead  leaf,"  said  Retallack.  He  was  never  a  hopeful 
man  himself,  however,  and  had  outlived  his  own  fame 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  19 

such  a  devil  of  a  long  time,  that  he  spoke  what  he  knew. 
But  there  was  one  who  didn't  take  the  clerk's  opinion, 
nor  shut  himself  out  of  the  treasure  by  any  means. 
In  fact,  a  certain  man  began  to  build  in  secret  on  that 
rainbow  gold,  and  though,  in  his  sober  and  honest 
senses,  no  doubt  Toby  Polglaze  might  have  been  a  long 
sight  too  sane  to  do  any  such  thing,  he  was  now  be- 
trothed, as  you'll  remember,  to  Farmer  Sleep's  girl, 
Netty.  And  history  repeated  itself,  and  the  woman 
tempted  him. 

IV 

Not  her  fault  altogether  neither;  in  fact,  when  you 
come  to  throw  the  blame,  you  can't  spare  parson  him- 
self, because  he'd  talked  a  lot  to  Tobias  in  his  time  about 
the  ancient  house  of  Polglaze,  and  told  him  that  many 
and  many  a  yeoman  of  Devon  and  Cornwall  had  rare 
good  blood  running  in  his  veins  and  came  of  fine,  loyal 
stock  broke  in  the  wars. 

And  Netty  Sleep  built  on  that  idea,  and  presently 
she  got  Toby  very  sure  about  himself  and  very  full  of 
non-sensical  notions. 

"  Of  course,  you  be  sprung  from  the  ancient  lords  of 
the  manor,"  vowed  Netty.  "  Why,  us  have  only  to  look 
at  you  to  see  it,  and  if  you  was  in  gentleman's  clothes, 
what  with  your  nice  hands  and  small  feet,  and  choice  of 
language  and  laming,  anybody  would  say  you  was  born 
of  the  best.  Without  doubt,  you're  a  set-back  to  the 
old  blood,  though  it  may  have  run  through  common 
people  here  and  there,"  she  said,  "  and  so  you've  every 
right  to  reckon  yourself  in  the  line." 


20  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

And  all  this  tomfoolery  was  for  a  purpose,  of  course, 
and  Tobias  felt  only  too  glad  to  fall  in  with  it.  She 
spurred  him  on,  and  presently  in  sober  seriousness  he 
reckoned  he  was  the  lawful  heir  to  Sir  Toby  Polglaze's 
treasure  —  when  and  wherever  it  turned  up.  He  and 
she  soon  got  to  believe  this  as  gospel  truth;  but  they 
took  very  good  care  not  to  tell  other  people;  for  they 
knew  none  else  would  list  to  such  a  fool's  tale  for  a  mo- 
ment. 

And  since  he  very  well  understood  he  couldn't  put 
in  no  such  ridiculous  claim,  Master  Toby  began  to  cud- 
gel his  brains,  and  so  did  his  maiden.  He  had  his  own 
ideas,  but  kept  them  close,  and  it  weren't  till  afterwards 
that  we  began  to  remember  how  he  was  always  about  in 
the  church  during  the  alterations.  It  was  thought  the 
Reverend  Tremayne  had  appointed  him  to  look  after 
the  workmen  and  see  nothing  was  taken  behind  his  back 
and  nought  of  value  hidden  that  might  come  to  hand 
during  the  researches ;  but  inquiry  proved  this  was  not 
the  case,  and  it  turned  out  that  Toby  just  gave  over 
his  thatching  and  invited  himself  to  the  work  of  poking 
and  prying  and  watching  the  restoration  of  St.  Luce. 
Of  course,  he  was  feared  of  his  life  that  they'd  find  the 
treasure,  and  for  several  nights  he  offered  to  watch,  so 
that  nothing  should  be  took  behind  the  reverend's  back ; 
and  so  pleased  was  parson  that  he  greatly  applauded 
Toby  for  his  zealous  behaviour,  and  said  he  was  a  lesson 
to  the  other  young  men,  not  one  of  which  would  have 
spared  an  hour  of  their  sleeping-time  for  such  a  high 
purpose. 

So  the  work  went  on,  and  the  Queen  Anne  mess  was 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  21 

shot  out,  and  the  people  fairly  rubbed  their  eyes  to  see 
the  little  north  aisle  —  a  sight  long  lost  and  new  to  this 
generation.  But  some  of  the  old  folk  liked  it  not  at  all, 
because  there  was  an  echo  in  it  that  made  'em  jump; 
and  the  church  now  being  a  third  so  big  again  and  the 
evenings  drawing  on  to  December  and  getting  mighty 
cold,  the  hotting  stove  and  pipes  proved  far  too  weak 
to  warm  it.  And  some,  headed  by  old  Moses  Keat,  the 
cordwainer,  got  at  his  reverence  to  set  up  a  new  stove 
with  mightier  power,  to  keep  the  winter  cold  out  of  the 
people  at  worship ;  but  he  defied  them,  and  said  a  stove 
was  an  abomination  in  his  opinion,  and  a  great  sign  of 
weakness  in  them  who  desired  it. 

"  There's  a  lot  too  much  talked  about  warmth  and 
comfort  in  the  House  of  God,"  he  said  in  a  sermon  at 
that  time,  "  and  I  want  for  Moses  Keat  and  some  of  his 
friends  who  feel  like  him,  to  know  that  we  do  not  come 
to  St.  Luce's  to  be  warm  and  comfortable.  Such  mean 
pleasures  are  lawful  enough  and  within  the  reach  of  all 
of  us,  thank  God,  Who  careth  for  the  sparrow.  There's 
plenty  of  houses  where  we  can  toast  our  feet  and  ease 
our  backs  and  partake  of  a  pipe  and  a  glass  of  cordial 
of  a  night ;  and  why  not,  so  long  as  we  only  yield  to 
these  luxuries  when  the  day's  work  is  done  and  no  call 
of  duty  remains  to  be  answered?  But  this  —  this  is  the 
terrible  House  of  the  Lord,"  says  the  Reverend  Tre- 
mayne  in  his  biggest  voice,  "  and  the  man,  or  woman, 
whose  thoughts  wander  to  their  feet,  or  their  backs,  or 
who  feels  a  draught  chilling  their  marrow  when  they 
ought  to  be  waiting  in  fear  and  trembling  to  hear  the 
whisper  of  the  Still  Small  Voice  in  their  hearts  —  such 


22  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

people  shall  have  no  sympathy  from  me.  Their  faith 
is  weak;  their  danger  is  great,  and  they  stand  in  peril 
of  a  warmth,  without  comfort,  that  may  endure  through 
eternity !  " 

In  tliis  valiant  manner  he  talked  to  us,  and  then, 
scarcely  were  the  words  out  of  his  mouth,  when  he  re- 
lented, and  out  of  consideration  for  the  weaker  brethren 
declared  that  the  work  was  nearly  complete,  and  that 
by  the  New  Year  for  sure  all  would  be  neat  and  vitty 
again.  For  flesh  is  grass,  as  well  he  knowed,  and  a  lot 
of  us,  poor  worms  that  we  are,  can't  pray  properly  with 
a  rick  in  the  back,  or  a  wind  in  our  earholes,  or  a  cold 
blast  creeping  up  our  legs. 

The  work  was,  in  fact,  very  nearly  done,  and  little 
more  than  that  unsightly,  suspicious  thing  we  called 
"  the  pile  "  remained  to  be  demolished.  The  north  aisle 
was  all  right  with  new  chairs  there  and  all  the  rents  in 
the  wall  made  good,  and  the  windows  knocked  out  and 
glazed  again ;  while  as  for  the  whitewash  on  the  ancient 
picture  of  St.  Luce,  plastered  over  it  by  baggering 
scamps  in  the  Commonwealth  times,  so  parson  said, 
'twas  cleaned  off,  and  there  started  out  upon  us  a  very 
woe-begone  saint,  all  eyes,  with  a  body  like  a  'natomy, 
and  hair  like  a  bush,  and  clad  in  a  gaiTncnt  like  a 
ploughboy's  smock.  And  most  people  wished  the  white- 
wash back,  for  the  credit  of  the  parish,  and  Wesley 
Retallack  said  that  if  that  was  a  proper  picture  of  St. 
Luce,  they  ought  never  to  have  painted  such  a  wisht 
scarecrow  of  a  creature.  Certainly  the  forlorn  object 
only  made  the  grown-ups  puzzle  and  the  childer  laugh; 
but  his  reverence  set  high  store  upon  it,  and  raised  a 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  23 

brave  fuss.  Learned  men  came  from  far  ways  off  to 
see  it,  and  some  photographed  it,  and  some  even  argued 
against  the  Vicar's  opinions,  and  grew  hot  about  it 
when  he  flouted  'em.  But  none  got  the  bettermost  of 
him,  because  of  course,  he  knew  best;  and  them  that 
didn't  agree  with  him  very  soon  went  off  with  their  tails 
between  their  legs  when  he  broke  loose  upon  'em  in  all 
the  wonder  of  his  laming. 

Then  came  in  Tobias  Polglaze  —  the  live  thatcher, 
not  the  dead  knight.  For  now  all  was  explored  to  the 
last  rat-hole,  and  nought  was  left  but  "  the  pile."  And 
there  Toby  most  steadfastly  believed  would  be  found 
the  treasure,  though  his  reverence  himself  had  given 
up  all  hope  of  it  by  now.  At  any  rate  there  comed 
a  moment  when  the  very  next  day  would  see  the 
mystery  solved;  and  though  Toby  knew  enough  to 
understand  he  wouldn't  find  Bank  of  England  notes 
and  sovereigns  there,  he  felt  dead  sure  that  precious 
things  would  appear  —  things  he  could  very  easy 
turn  into  cash.  And  cash  meant  marriage  for  him 
and  Netty.  For  long  before  now  he  regarded  the 
treasure  as  his  own  property  to  treat  as  he  liked  and 
sneak  if  he  could. 

So  what  he  done  was  this :  he  took  night-watchman's 
place  again,  and  parson  approved,  because  he  had  liis 
own  ideas  about  the  pile  and  didn't  want  any  risk  run. 
In  fact,  he  gave  it  out  that  none  was  to  take  a  dig  at  it 
till  he  stood  on  the  spot  next  day.  Therefore  Tobias 
had  it  all  to  himself  in  the  holy  building,  and  he  chuckled, 
no  doubt,  to  think  on  his  night's  work.  He  meant  to 
explain  next  morning  that,  for  interest  and  zeal,  he'd 


24j  chronicles  OF  ST.  TID 

laboured  by  night  and  fetched  down  the  side  of  the  pile, 
and  so  got  all  ready  for  his  reverence  next  morning. 
And  of  course  if  he  found  any  valuables,  his  purpose 
was  to  take  'em  for  his  own  use ;  and  then  he'd  be  ready 
to  tell  his  reverence  that  he'd  had  a  good  search  and 
found  the  inside  of  the  pile  empty.  For  hollow  it  was : 
that  much  they  knew  by  the  sound  when  they  struck 
against  it. 

But  what  happened  was  all  very  different,  and  Toby's 
plans  miscarried  something  shocking.  No  less  a  man 
than  the  Reverend  Tremayne  himself  told  the  rest  of  the 
tale  —  what  he  knew  of  it  that  was;  for  nobody  but 
Netty  Sleep  ever  heard  the  real  truth  while  Tobias  lived. 
You  see  the  man  wanted  all  his  scanty  pluck,  and  more, 
to  bide  that  night  in  the  church  alone,  with  nought  save 
a  horn  lantern  for  company;  and  certain  it  is  he'd 
never  have  offered  for  such  unkid  work,  without  his  great 
desire  to  wed  and  his  firm  belief  in  the  treasure.  But 
what  happened  to  the  sly  toad  was  enough,  and  more 
than  enough,  to  scare  a  born  hero,  I'm  sure,  and  there's 
few  men  living  in  St.  Luce  today,  and  not  one  in  Toby's 
days,  if  you  except  the  vicar  himself,  who  would  have 
faced  such  a  come-along-of-it  and  kept  his  courage, 
even  if  he  kept  his  senses.  Anyhow  Toby  didn't  keep 
neither,  and  but  for  Parson  Tremayne  I  doubt  the  man 
would  never  have  come  out  alive. 

You  see  parson,  by  good  chance,  was  called  to  old 
Grandfather  Nute's  death-bed  and  Nute  flickered  a  long 
time  before  he  went.  Indeed  it  was  two  of  the  clock 
and  a  rough  winter's  night,  before  the  ancient  man  gave 
up  his  spirit  to  his  Maker.     After  which  the  Reverend 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  25 

went  home  and  took  the  short  cut  through  the  lich-gate 
and  among  the  graves.  Tramping  along  slow  and  not 
thinking  of  anytliing  but  his  old  parishioner,  parson 
suddenly  heard  a  dull,  heavy  sound  in  the  church,  and 
saw  a  dim  light  through  the  window,  and  called  to  mind 
that  Tobias  was  there.  But  the  noise  was  a  bit  of  a 
puzzle  to  him,  so  he  walks  among  the  graves  to  have  a 
look  in.  'Twas  a  muffled  sort  of  hammering  he  heard, 
and  it  could  only  mean  that  Polglaze  was  exceeding  in- 
structions and  doing  a  bit  of  work  on  his  own.  So  par- 
son peeped  in  the  window,  and  there,  sure  enough,  was 
Toby,  with  his  lantern  hung  beside  him,  hard  at  work 
pulling  down  the  pile!  Parson  grinned  to  see  the  zest 
of  the  man,  who  couldn't  wait  till  morning  afore  this 
mystery ;  but  he  felt  like  it  himself  for  that  matter,  and 
so  he  nipped  round  quiet  to  the  vestry  door  and  let  him- 
self in.  He  didn't  want  to  fright  Toby,  for  he  knew 
he  was  a  nervous  soul,  and  he  was  just  going  to  call  out 
and  proclaim  himself,  when  as  he  stepped  into  the  nave, 
round  the  organ,  there  rose  up  the  awfullest  screech 
that  ever  fell  on  mortal  ear.  'Twas  a  howl  as  of  some 
human  that  had  suddenly  took  leave  of  his  senses,  and 
there  was  Toby  creeming  with  fear,  and  yelling  the  roof 
off  the  church,  and  calling  upon  the  saints  and  angels 
to  protect  him.  A  proper  maniac,  I  warn  you,  and 
such  was  his  fearful  terror  of  mind  that  when  parson 
called  to  him  from  the  darkness,  he  took  on  worse  than 
ever  and  thought  'twas  the  devil  himself.  Then,  flying 
for  his  life,  he  had  poor  speed  and  catched  his  foot  over 
the  steps  of  the  vamp-dish  ^  nigh  the  west  door,  and 
1  Vamp-dish.     Font. 


26  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

there  he   lay   yowling   with  his    face   to   the   floor   till 
parson  got  to  him. 

V 

The  Reverend  soon  found  the  man  was  demented  for 
the  time  being,  and  raised  him  up,  and  set  him  down  in 
a  pew  and  fetched  the  lantern  to  him.  And  then  he 
called  upon  God  to  let  the  evil  spirit  out  of  the  wretch, 
for  it  looked  as  if,  when  he  broke  ope  the  pile,  something 
had  flew  from  it  and  got  into  Tobias.  He  laughed  and 
gibbered  and  went  on  like  a  woman  in  hysterics  for 
twenty  minutes,  and  then  his  reverence  managed  to  sober 
him  down  and  fetch  a  streak  of  sense  back.  By  fits  and 
gasps  Toby  explained  that  he'd  just  broke  through  the 
stone-work  to  the  hollow  witliin  when  what  should  he  see 
but  a  dreadful  spectrum  glaring  out  at  him ! 

"  God's  my  judge,  but  he's  there!  "  squeaked  Tobias, 
"  and  he's  the  keeper  of  tlie  treasure,  and  I've  seen  him, 
and  'tis  any  odds  I  shall  die  afore  the  year's  out.  No- 
body could  see  nothing  like  that  and  live." 

He  whimpered  and  wliined  and  swore  by  all  the  holy 
things  he  knew  that  he  never  meant  to  take  a  three- 
penny-piece for  himself,  and  was  only  working  in  a 
proper  and  prayerful  spirit  for  parson.  Of  course  his 
own  bad  conscience  made  liim  say  so,  for  Lord  knows 
the  other  would  never  have  accused  him  of  any  such 
crime.  And  even  then  parson  didn't  see  how  Tobias 
had  gived  himself  away,  for  he  kept  his  faith  in  the  man 
to  the  end. 

"  I  fear  no  spectrum,"  he  said,  "  But  I've  had  my 
opinions  of  the  pile  for  many  years,  though  I've  never 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  27 

voiced  them,  for  dread  of  frighting  the  people.  It  may, 
however,  be  no  more  than  some  ancient  gargoyle  or 
mediaeval  monster  of  stone.  Follow  me  in  the  name  of 
God,  Tobias  Polglaze,  and  fear  no  evil." 

Then  his  reverence  took  the  lantern  and  went  to  see 
for  himself  what  had  knocked  the  wits  out  of  the  younger 
man. 

And  he  found  the  hollow  place  broke  open  to  about 
the  size  of  an  oven  mouth ;  and  sure  enough,  staring 
through  it,  was  a  gashly  great  death's  head  without  any 
eyes.  A  bit  of  hair  still  clung  to  the  skull,  but  for  the 
rest  'twas  just  a  dead  bone,  and  vicar,  with  his  far- 
reaching  knowledge,  understood  in  a  moment  that  he 
stood  before  a  great  treasure  —  though  not  the  sort 
of  treasure  Toby  thought  to  find.  In  fact,  the  skeleton 
that  had  shook  up  Tobias  so  bad,  properly  delighted 
Parson  Tremayne;  and  if  he'd  found  a  barrel  of  gold 
he  wouldn't  have  been  half  so  pleased.  Indeed,  so  ex- 
cited was  he  that  he  set  to  work  then  and  there  and 
pulled  down  a  bit  more  of  the  masonry  himself;  for 
Toby's  limbs  was  turned  to  water;  and  the  kick  and 
sprawl  had  gone  out  of  him,  so  that  he  could  work  no 
more. 

By  the  lantern  his  reverence  toiled  and  found  a  proper 
rogue's  roost  of  a  hole,  and  the  skull  of  a  man  stuck  on 
an  iron  nail  drove  through  his  jaws,  and  the  rest  of  his 
bones  all  in  a  heap  down  under.  And  the  reverend 
fairly  sang  praises  at  this  horrible  sight,  and  couldn't 
understand  for  the  life  of  him  why  Toby  weren't  equally 
joyful.  For  he  vowed  'twas  the  most  interesting  thing 
that  had  ever  happened  to  him  in  his  interesting  career, 


28  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

and,  better  still,  the  skeleton  man  had  proved  a  secret 
opinion  which  he  had  long-  held. 

He  saw  Tobias  to  his  home,  for  the  thatcher  was  still 
weak  as  a  goose-chick  and  bivvering  like  a  babe ;  and 
the  next  Sunday,  of  course,  parson  was  full  of  the  won- 
der. But  Polglaze  weren't  there  to  hear,  for  they  had 
to  take  him  to  hospital  after  his  shaking  adventure,  and 
he  bided  there  a  good  while  afore  he  returned  among  us. 
And  if  the  sin  planned  be  just  as  bad  as  the  sin  per- 
formed, then  Master  Toby  had  earned  worse  than  hos- 
pital and  that  was  klink. 

As  for  parson,  he  told  us  that  for  all  these  years 
we'd  had  a  grand  old  church  grim  among  us ;  and  I  dare 
say  you  mightn't  know  what  a  church  grim  is,  for  they 
be  a  branch  of  knowledge  very  much  out  of  the  common. 
I'm  sure  if  we  hadn't  seen  it  with  our  eyes,  and  heard 
tell  of  its  fame  and  powers,  we  never  should  have  be- 
lieved it  —  not  one  of  us. 

"  Friends,"  says  parson,  "  the  mystery  of  '  the  pile  ' 
has  at  last  been  cleared  up,  and  those  who  declared  that 
an  evil  and  strange  influence  exuded  from  those  ancient 
stones  spoke  wiser  than  they  knew.  Of  old,  I  may  tell 
you,  the  custom  always  was  to  have  a  watcher  in  every 
place  of  worship  by  night  and  day,  because  in  the  good, 
past  days,  the  churches  were  far  richer  than  now,  and 
before  the  Reformation  —  which  lamentable  upheaval 
would  never  have  occurred  if  I  had  had  any  voice  in  the 
matter  —  our  own  holy  places  were  full  of  plate  and 
fine  linen,  and  silver  candlesticks  and  golden  altar  ves- 
sels, and  precious  jewels,  and  many  such-like  things, 
poured  into  them  by  the  pious  for  their  souls'  sakes. 


THE  CHURCH  GRIM  29 

So  there  were  watch-lofts  set  up,  in  which  religious  and 
trusty  men  kept  guard  to  see  that  thieves  did  not  break 
through  and  steal. 

"  But  presently,"  continues  parson,  "  some  ingenious 
and  imaginative  spirit,  trading  doubtless  on  the  super- 
stition of  the  time,  bethought  him  that  a  dead  watchman 
might  be  just  as  potent  as  a  live  one,  and  considerably 
cheaper.  For  in  those  days  the  belief  in  ghosts  was 
general;  and  the  people  were  none  the  worse  for  it. 
Then,  therefore,  there  came  in  a  fashion  of  church 
grims.  They  were  generally  the  bodies  of  evil-doers, 
cut  off  in  the  midst  of  their  sins,  or  put  out  of  life  by 
rope  or  axe  for  crimes  of  commission.  And  doubtless 
it  was  thought  by  Christian  men  of  religious  mind  that 
such  unruly  and  wicked  members  might  thus  atone  in 
their  defunct  flesh  for  the  crimes  of  their  lives,  and  so 
obtain  peace  and  pardon  by  the  merciful  wisdom  of  our 
Lord  God,  which  passeth  all  understanding.  Thus  their 
corpses  were  immured,  or  walled  up,  to  watch  till  doom 
and  the  Day  of  Judgment." 

We  listened  with  our  eyes  round  and  our  mouths 
open;  and  for  my  part  I  reckon  'twas  all  done  on  the 
principle  of  setting  a  rogue  to  catch  a  rogue,  and  the 
thought  of  a  dead  spectrum  after  liim  doubtless  frighted 
many  a  rascal  from  church-breaking,  as  it  had  Tobias 
Polglaze  for  that  matter.  But  whether  our  bony  hero 
did  his  work  well  in  his  own  generation,  who  can  say? 
Anyway,  the  reverend  gave  him  Christian  burial  and  put 
up  a  stone  to  the  creature,  after  being  in  two  minds 
whether  he  wouldn't  let  him  stop  in  his  old  roost.  But 
the  sense  of  the  parish  was  all  against  that;  and  we 


30  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

were  very  glad  to  be  rid  of  the  terror  from  our  midst. 

Tobias  was  never  the  same  again,  and  his  hair  went 
white  afore  he  turned  fifty.  But  out  of  evil  came  good 
—  at  least  it  looked  so  at  the  time ;  for  such  was  the 
man's  collapse  that  he  couldn't  sleep  in  his  bed  alone  no 
more  after  that  night,  and  for  sheer  gratitude  to  him, 
and  quite  forgetting  that  the  church  grim  would  have 
turned  up  next  day  whether  or  no,  parson  took  up  his 
case. 

Iss,  fay,  he  did ;  and  finding  how  the  affair  had  told 
upon  him,  he  exalted  Toby  into  his  own  service  as  man- 
of-all-work,  and  gave  him  wages  enough  to  wed  upon. 
He  reckoned  the  thatcher  was  a  martyr  to  learning,  you 
see;  and  so  the  man  got  to  wed  his  Netty,  and  as  far 
as  anybody  ever  heard  to  the  contrary,  he  went  straight 
as  a  line  ever  after. 

Not  till  he  came  to  his  own  death-bed,  however,  did 
he  confess  that  he  was  up  to  no  good  that  night,  and 
then  'twas  another  than  Parson  Tremayne  who  heard 
the  crime,  for  he,  worthy  man,  had  long  been  took  to 
his  fathers.  And  them  that  heard  the  truth  never 
blamed  Toby  over-much,  because,  though  at  first  sight 
it  looked  as  though  he  had  been  rewarded  for  wrong- 
doing, yet  you  had  to  remember  the  price.  His  nerve 
was  never  stronger  than  a  girl  child's  from  that  night; 
and  he  never  had  no  cliilder,  owing  doubtless  to  the  shock 
to  his  manhood ;  and  besides  that,  he  was  heard  to  whis- 
per he  had  no  luck  with  liis  wife  after  all.  Very  likely 
she  didn't  hold  herself  a  terrible  fortunate  woman  either, 
even  if  she  had  too  much  spirit  to  tell  it  out. 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM 

Jane  Tresidda  had  the  sort  of  faith  that  goes  to  the 
roots  of  life  and  makes  the  soul  flourish  afore  the  sight 
of  all  men.  A  true,  working  Christian,  you  might  say, 
steadfast  and  patient  —  which  Lord  He  knows  she 
needed  to  be  —  and  with  a  spark  of  fun  in  her,  too, 
which  life  couldn't  quench.  For  she  had  that  blessed 
gift  to  see  that  our  days  at  their  worst  and  hardest  have 
always  got  something  a  thought  comical  to  'em;  and 
though  it  don't  take  a  great  sense  of  fun  to  laugh  at 
your  neighbour's  misfortunes,  it  do  take  a  tidy  lot  to 
laugh  at  your  own. 

Jane  Tresidda  —  a  Pierce  by  birth  —  wedded  her 
husband  as  a  young  maiden  girl;  and  there's  no  doubt 
that,  knowing  nothing  about  love,  she  done  it  to  please 
her  mother  —  a  very  good  reason  for  doing  a  lot  of 
things,  but  doubtful  when  it  comes  to  your  partner  for 
life.  But  so  it  was.  Samuel  Tresidda  wedded  late,  and 
his  keen  eye  had  marked  down  Jane  as  a  comely  creature, 
with  a  lot  of  sense  and  enough  cleverness  to  make  six- 
pence do  the  work  of  a  shilling. 

His  masterful  will  soon  won  over  Eliza  Pierce  —  a 
widow  with  one  daughter;  and  when  she  put  it  to  Jane 
—  then  turned  eighteen  —  that  farmer  Tresidda  was 
wishful  for  her  to  wife,  Jane  thought  upon  it  and  know- 
ing nought  of  men  and  liking  the  strong,  hard  chap 
rather,  because  he  had  power  and  was  a  man  of  note 

31 


32  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

in  them  parts,  she  went  into  it,  as  innocent  as  a  mouse 
into  a  trap,  and  took  him. 

When  she  was  thirty-eight,  she  died,  and  didn't  mind 
going  neither.  She  made  him  a  wife  far  better  than  he 
deserved,  and  her  sweet  temper  and  large  patience  imder 
the  affliction  of  a  grasping,  cruel  and  soulless  partner 
was  a  very  fine  lesson  for  St.  Tid  and  all  the  country 
round.  Of  course,  she  soon  found  out  that  Tresidda 
was  long  ways  short  of  what  she  thought  and  hoped; 
and  she  soon  found  out  that  his  idea  of  a  wife  wasn't 
far  removed  from  his  idea  of  a  cow,  or  a  beast  of  bur- 
den. She  learnt  also,  as  time  went  on,  what  a  mean, 
greedy  nature  the  man  had,  and  how  cowardly  he  was. 

One  son  she  bore  to  the  farmer,  and  luckily  for  Teddy 
Tresidda,  he  favoured  Jane.  At  least,  it  was  both  lucky 
and  unlucky  for  the  lad;  lucky,  because  to  be  like  his 
mother  was  to  be  made  in  a  useful,  brave  and  honoura- 
ble pattern  that  promised  to  justify  his  existence;  and 
unlucky,  because  liis  father  never  forgave  him  for  being 
cast  in  a  different  mould  from  himself. 

Samuel  would  have  liked  to  see  the  boy  keen  about 
money,  hard  at  a  bargain,  shrewd  in  all  his  dealings  and 
with  a  mind  that  set  cash  first  and  the  rest  nowhere ;  so 
when  Ted  turned  out  quite  a  different  order  of  creation 
—  fond  of  a  bit  of  sport,  fond  of  the  girls,  and  with  a 
sharp  sense  of  justice  and  what  every  man  owes  to  his 
neighbours  and  his  country,  old  Sam  was  a  good  bit 
disappointed  and  couldn't  understand  for  the  life  of  him 
how  he  came  to  be  the  father  of  such  a  chap.  He  was 
always  growling  and  grumbling  against  the  boy,  yet 
he  couldn't  in  reason  find  no  fault,  because,  though  he 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  33 

hated  Ted's  easy  and  trustful  disposition  and  properly 
detested  his  strict  feelings  about  the  rights  of  weaker 
men,  yet  he  dared  not  make  a  grievance  of  these  quali- 
ties, or  expect  other  people  to  lament  that  his  son  wasn't 
a  grasping,  stingy,  sour-tempered  toad  like  his  father. 

Then  when  he  was  turned  nineteen,  his  mother  died, 
and  never  an  unlucky  lad  lost  liis  best  friend  at  a 
worse  moment.  Jane  had  stood  up  for  the  boy  all  his 
life,  and  tempered  the  wind  of  his  father's  beastly  nature 
for  him,  and  taught  him  to  be  patient  and  keep  his  tem- 
per and  see  the  funny  side,  and  the  sad  side,  too,  of  an 
elderly  man  living  for  money  and  caring  not  who  suf- 
fered so  long  as  the  money  came  in.  But  when  she  was 
gone,  Ted  began  to  get  a  taste  of  what  life  could  be,  and 
he  very  soon  felt  that  if  he  was  to  be  a  man  and  respect 
himself  and  justify  his  mother's  blood  in  his  veins,  he'd 
have  to  cut  and  run  and  leave  Silver  Thimble  Farm  for 
good  and  all.  But  though  dead  and  at  peace,  Jane 
never  seemed  dead  exactly  to  Teddy.  She  worked  on 
him  in  the  properly  wonderful  way  women  can  work  on 
their  children  long  after  the  grass  be  growed  over  their 
graves ;  and  many  and  many  a  time,  when  fretted  past 
bearing  by  his  surly  parent,  the  youth  would  think  on 
his  mother  and  her  patience  and  her  smiles,  and  so  keep 
going  and  hoping  for  better  times. 

And  one  he  had  to  help  him,  for  six  months  before 
Jane  went,  Teddy  had  dared  to  fall  in  love  with  a  very 
fine  girl  by  name  of  Milly  Jago.  His  father  very  near 
had  a  fit  when  he  heard  tell  about  it  and  said  if  ever  Ted 
brought  her  over  the  threshold  of  home,  he'd  set  the 
dogs  against  her.     In  a  word,  he  denied  and  defied  the 


34.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID  ^ 

match  and  dared  Teddy  ever  to  name  Milly  Jago  in  his 
hearing.  He  even  went  over  to  Milly's  father,  Samson 
Jago,  second  foreman  at  St.  Tid's  slate  quarries,  and 
used  a  bit  of  coarse  language  and  made  a  show  of  him- 
self. But  Samson  Jago  knew  the  man  he'd  got  to  deal 
with  and  ver}'  well  understood  how  it  was. 

"  You  didn't  ought  to  get  in  such  a  rage  about  a  silly 
boy  and  girl,  Mr.  Tresidda,"  he  said.  "  I'm  sure  such 
a  thing's  quite  beneath  your  notice.  You  know  what  it 
is  at  choir  practice,  when  the  young  things  get  singing 
out  of  the  same  hymn-book.  Or  if  you  don't,  we  chapel 
people  do.  'Tis  all  in  nature,  and  youth  will  be  served. 
Milly's  only  eighteen  and  your  boy  but  a  year  older, 
and  no  doubt  they'll  change  their  silly  minds  a  score 
of  times  yet  afore  they  find  the  right  one.  For  that 
matter,"  went  on  Samson,  "  my  Milly's  the  sort  to  suit 
you  a  lot  better  than  your  own  child  in  my  opinion. 
She's  a  fiery  little  deril  with  a  will  of  her  own  and  a 
heart  that  can  be  quite  as  hard  as  3^ours." 

"  Let  me  hear  no  more  of  it,  then,"  answered  the 
farmer.  "  And  if  your  daughter's  got  sense,  rub  this 
into  her,  that  she'll  dance  on  my  grave  long  afore  she'll 
have  my  son ;  and  if  I  hear  a  whisper  more  of  it,  I'll  leave 
every  stiver  away  from  him.  I  was  forty  when  I  mar- 
ried and  that's  full  young.  'Tis  a  fool's  trick  to  think 
of  it  in  youth,  and  my  mone}^  don't  go  to  a  fool,  nor  yet 
a  pair  of  fools." 

"  Never  did  I  hear  a  more  sensible  word,"  said  Mr. 
Jago ;  and  when  Tresidda  had  rode  off  on  a  rat-tailed, 
flea-bitten  old  mare  with  a  temper  as  bad  as  his  own, 
Samson  laughed  and  went  in  the  house  and  told  Milly. 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  S5 

She  was  a  dark,  gipsy-looking  girl,  pretty  as  a  pic- 
ture, but  with  a  cliin  and  a  temper.  Bright  brown  eyes 
she'd  got  and  a  lovely  mouth,  a  solid,  stuggy  figure,  a 
round  bosom  and  a  strong  arm. 

"  The  game's  up,  Milly,"  says  her  father,  winking  at 
her.  "  Old  boy  wants  me  to  tell  you  as  you'll  dance  on 
his  grave  afore  you  wed  your  Teddy." 

"  No  such  luck,  I  reckon,"  she  answered  ;  "  but  I  hope 
I  shall  some  day.  I  knew  he  was  coming :  he  told  Ted  he 
was.  I  daresay  Ted  will  run  away  from  Silver  Thimble 
afore  long.  That'll  show  the  pig  his  son  puts  me  before 
his  money-bags." 

"  Don't  let  Ted  do  nothing  silly,"  said  Samson  to  liis 
girl.      "  Remember  Jane  Tresidda's  gift  of  patience." 

"  I  won't  let  Teddy  do  nothing  mean,"  she  answered. 
"  He  knows  the  sort  I  am,  and  I  know  the  sort  he  is. 
I'm  not  made  of  milk  and  honey  to  stand  being  black- 
guarded by  a  godless  old  rip  like  Tresidda,  and  no 
more's  Teddy.  We'll  wait  till  he's  twenty-one  —  that's 
what  we've  ordained  to  do.  Then,  when  he's  a  man  by 
law,  he'll  have  to  act  like  a  man,  or  I'll  know  the  reason 
why." 

Little  she  knew  that  in  a  fortnight  from  that  day  it 
would  be  up  to  Teddy  to  act  like  a  man ! 

For  then,  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue,  bloody  war  burst 
upon  us  and  we  woke  up  one  fine  morning  to  find  Ger- 
many at  our  throats,  "  Men,"  was  the  cry,  for  in  the 
last  resort  'tis  always  numbers  must  win  the  day ;  and 
so  'twas  up  to  the  British  nation  to  come  forward.  And 
needless  to  say  it  came  —  the  cream  and  pick  of  our 
manhood  rose  up  for  the  old  country  —  not  because  it 


36  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

liked  fighting,  but  because  there  weren't  no  choice  if 
England  and  all  she  stood  for  was  to  win  against  the 
armed  might  of  Germany. 

"  I'm  off  tomorrow  to  enlist  at  Launceston,  father," 
Teddy  said,  cheerful  as  a  cricket,  one  evening,  "  and  the 
chaps  of  age  here,  twenty  of  'em,  are  going  in  along 
with  me.  'Tis  lucky  we've  got  in  the  hay  all  right,  and 
'tis  lucky  there's  going  to  be  a  rare  crop  of  wheat, 
though  I  shan't  be  here  to  help  with  the  harvest,  I'm 
fearing." 

However,  Tresidda  very  soon  spoke  his  mind  on  that 
subject. 

"  I  dare  any  man  to  leave  Silver  Thimble,"  he  said. 
"  'Tis  all  noise  and  splutter,  and  tliis  war  will  he  over 
before  we  can  look  round,  and  I'm  not  going  to  have 
my  autumn  work  upset  by  you  excitable  young  folks 
running  off  just  when  I  want  you.  By  the  time  you 
know  one  end  of  a  gun  from  the  other  the  war  will  be 
ended,"  declared  Tresidda,  "  so  I'll  thank  you  to  stop 
where  you  are  and  say  no  more  about  it." 

However,  Teddy,  for  once  in  a  way,  found  that  there 
was  no  possible  chance  of  seeing  eye  to  eye  with  his 
father.  In  fact,  he  didn't  try,  and  'twas  thanks  to  him 
the  two  farm  hinds  of  right  age  to  join  the  colours  also 
went  despite  the  master's  threats. 

Tresidda,  finding  his  boy  firm,  swore  to  cut  him  out  of 
his  inlicritance. 

"  Mark  me,"  he  said,  "  and  well  you  know  I'm  the  dog 
that  bites  without  barking  first,  if  you  disobey  and  go 
in  the  Army,  I  turn  my  back  on  you  for  evermore  and 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  37 

fling  you  over.  'Tis  not  for  the  likes  of  you,  the  only 
son  of  your  father,  to  go,  and  though  I  don't  care  a  cuss 
for  you  and  never  did,  because  there's  nothing  of  me  in 
you,  yet  I  do  so  far  respect  you  as  to  leave  what's  mine 
to  you  when  I  die,  if  you  obey  me  in  all  things,  as  I've  a 
right  to  expect  and  demand.  So  now  you  know  where 
you  stand,  and  you  leave  me  at  your  everlasting  peril." 

"  There's  bigger  things  than  Silver  Thimble  and  your 
money,  father,"  said  Teddy.  "  It  looks  as  if  Cornwall 
was  hanging  back  too  much  from  enlisting,  in  my  opin- 
ion, and  Mr.  Nanjulian,  the  schoolmaster,  says  there's 
a  lot  of  bad  pressure  being  put  by  farmers  on  their  men ; 
and  I'm  sure  you  be  too  good  an  Englishman  to  want 
to  see  me  setting  a  bad  example  for  England." 

"  England  be  damned,"  answered  Tresidda.  "  I  pay 
my  taxes,  don't  I?  And  if  they're  doubled,  as  seems 
likely,  still  I  shall  pay  them.  And  I  ain't  going  to 
argue  with  you,  whether  or  no.  You  come  to  heel  and 
don't  talk  to  me  like  an  equal,  because  you  ain't,  and 
never  will  be." 

He  had  the  evil  trick  to  sting  and  insult  folk  like  that, 
but  Teddy  was  civil  to  the  end.  He  never  sauced  his 
father  back,  but  he  did  right  before  the  people  and  left 
his  home  and  joined  the  new  army.  In  two  months  the 
man  was  a  sergeant,  and  St.  Tid,  as  heard  all  about 
him  through  Milly  Jago,  felt  proud  of  him.  And  once 
we  saw  him,  for  there  was  a  beat-up  for  recruits  in  our 
district,  and  Teddy  came  along  with  a  battalion  of  fine 
chaps  and  a  band ;  and  never  did  I  see  a  better  set  up 
lot  of  hardy  young  fellows  than  went  through  the  vil- 


38  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

lage  on  that  occasion.  By  chance  Tresidda  was  in  St. 
Tid  at  the  time ;  but  he  took  no  more  notice  of  the  splen- 
did boys  than  if  they'd  been  a  flight  of  starlings. 

"  There's  your  son,  Mr.  Tresidda !  "  said  a  woman 
to  him  as  they  went  by. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  son !  "  he  snapped  back  at  her. 

Then  time  passed  and  the  war  went  its  slow,  cruel 
way,  and  we  heard  at  the  turn  of  the  year  that  Teddy's 
regiment  was  off  to  France.  As  for  the  lad's  father,  he 
minded  liis  business  and  garnered  his  wheat,  and  I  think 
he  knew,  almost  before  any  of  us,  that  prices  were  going 
to  run  up  pretty  stiff  as  soon  as  the  winter  came. 
Which  they  did  do,  and  them  as  kept  their  corn  in  stack 
began  to  see  that  for  honesty  they  ought  to  put  it  in 
market  so  quick  as  possible,  if  for  gain  they  were 
tempted  to  hang  on. 

You  couldn't  call  Samuel  Tresidda  a  pro-German 
exactly,  but  you  couldn't  call  him  a  pro-Englishman 
neither,  nor  yet  even  a  pro-Cornishman,  for  the  Cornish 
motto  of  "  One  and  All  "  weren't  anything  to  him  at  any 
time.  But  one  "  pro  "  he  was,  first  and  last  and  always ; 
and  that  was  pro-Tresidda. 

The  opinion  of  other  people,  of  course,  weren't  more 
to  him  than  the  muck  on  his  boot,  so  he  went  his  way, 
and  though  he  knew  ver}^  well  by  Febiniar}^  that  every- 
body thought  and  said  he  ought  to  thresh  his  corn  ricks 
and  sell  the  corn,  he  didn't  do  it.  And  his  bad  example 
was  followed  by  not  a  few  other  men,  who  ought  to  have 
known  better. 

Of  course,  nothing  ever  brow-beat  the  beggar,  and 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  39 

he'd  come  into  the'  "  Hearty  Welcome  "  just  as  usual 
for  his  pint  of  beer  or  whack  of  whisky,  and  such  was 
the  fear  he  put  into  people  that  some  of  us  men,  so  to 
call  us,  never  talked  about  nothing  to  hurt  Tresidda 
when  he  was  present.  We  made  up  for  it,  no  doubt, 
after  he  was  gone ;  but  in  the  matter  of  wheat,  most  of 
'em  said  that  to  talk  of  wheat  before  him  just  now  was 
much  like  naming  sage  and  onions  to  a  goose. 

However,  it  weren't  in  nature  we  could  keep  off  the 
problem  of  prices,  and  for  my  part  I'd  talk  of  corn  as 
willingly  before  him  as  I  would  of  coals  or  sugar.  And 
so  did  Nick  Nanjulian,  the  schoolmaster,  as  didn't  fear 
him  neither;  and  so  did  John  Peters,  who  kept  the 
"  Hearty  Welcome,"  and  set  no  store  on  the  custom  of 
Tresidda,  since  he  only  took  his  own  drink  and  never 
offered  one  to  any  man,  or  got  one  offered  to  him. 

Just  when  the  corn  question  had  reached  to  a  proper 
scandal  and  'twas  said  the  other  farmers  were  climbing 
down  and  had  sent  for  the  threshing  machine  and  were 
going  to  sell,  Tresidda  came  in  the  inn  where  we  was  all 
hard  at  it,  and  Nanjulian  was  explaining  the  situation. 

"  'Tis  tliis  way,"  he  said,  "  The  British  farmers  hold- 
ing up  wheat  are  small  men  mostly,  but  in  New  York 
and  Cliicago  there  are  mighty  big  men  buying  and  sell- 
ing for  rises.  The  world  price  of  wheat  don't  depend 
on  us.  We've  got  to  pay  it,  or  see  the  wheat  go  to 
those  that  will.  Therefore,  Tresidda  here,  and  another 
round  about,  won't  alter  our  fix  whether  they  sell  or 
not." 

"  'Tis    the   spirit,   however,"   said  Peters,   "  and   the 


40  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

spirit  that  holds  on  over  forty  shillings  for  a  rise  is  a 
spirit  of  ill-gotten  gains  and  an  evil  spirit,  and  Gov- 
ernment ought  to  come  down  on  such  men." 

"  That's  quite  right,"  granted  Nanjulian,  "  and  I 
allow  that  if  all  these  unpatriotic  rogues  —  I  say  it  to 
your  face,  Tresidda  —  sold  as  they  should,  it  would  be 
on  the  right  side,  anyway,  and  might  do  a  bit  to  keep 
down  the  price.  But  when  high  prices  are  the  rule  and 
speculation  is  running  up  American  wheat  to  a  starva- 
tion figure  for  the  poor,  the  right  way  and  the  quick 
way  to  make  our  wheat  come  in  is  for  Government  to  use 
its  power  and  regulate  prices." 

"  And  how  could  that  be  done,  Nick  ?  "  I  asked  the 
man. 

"  By  tackling  freights,"  he  answered.  "  Shipowners 
naturally  take  all  they  can  get,  like  everybody  else,  and 
so  'tis  for  Government  to  see  they  get  no  more  of  this 
fancy  money." 

Tresidda  laughed. 

"  You  Socialists  talk  through  your  hats,"  he  said. 
"  'Tis  a  free  country  still,  however,  and  we  haven't 
come  to  the  pitch  when  we  shall  be  told  what  to  grow 
and  what  to  charge  for  it." 

"When  are  you  going  to  thresh.''  —  that's  the  ques- 
tion for  you,  if  you're  an  honest  man,"  answered  Nan- 
julian. "  Socialism  or  no  Socialism,  there'll  be  no 
place  for  chaps  like  you  in  the  new  world  after  the  war, 
and  one  thing's  certain,  if  your  wheat  was  took  from 
you  for  a  scrap  of  paper,  as  it  would  be  in  Germany, 
not  a  soul  in  Cornwall  but  would  laugh  to  see  you 
smart." 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  41 

"  'Tis  you  are  the  robber,  not  me,"  retorted  farmer. 
"  You  talk  like  a  rogue,  and  'tis  an  abomination  to 
think  that  you  are  teaching  the  children  at  your  school. 
And  I'd  have  you  out  of  it  if  I  could." 

Then  others  chipped  in,  and  we  was  a  fair  nest  of 
hornets  at  Tresidda's  ears ;  but  a  plucky  lot  he  cared ! 
In  fact,  I  tliink  he  liked  it  and  enjoyed  to  set  us  at 
loggerheads  over  his  bare-faced  opinions.  It  got  about 
presently  that  the  man  was  taking  German  money,  and 
a  wliisper  to  boycott  him  gathered  in  St.  Tid.  But 
then  that  happened  to  switch  the  interests  off  him  for  a 
bit. 

News  came  that  Teddy  Tresidda,  who'd  been  among 
the  first  of  the  new  army  to  find  himself  in  the  firing 
line,  was  wounded,  and  next  time  we  met  I  asked  farmer 
if  'twas  true. 

He  looked  at  me  scornful  and  answered. 

"  I  don't  know  nobod}'  by  the  name  of  Teddy  Tre- 
sidda, so  I  can't  say  whether  'tis  true  or  not." 

"  We  thought  he  was  your  son,"  said  I,  and  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  I've  got  no  son,  nor  yet  daughter,"  he  answered. 

Then  Milly  Jago  heard  from  Ted,  after  the  poor  girl 
had  suffered  two  days  of  hell,  and  grown  prett}'  well 
light-headed,  so  her  father  told  me ;  and  Teddy  asked 
if  his  father  had  forgiven  him  and  if  he  might  come 
home.  And  Jago  warned  his  girl  very  serious  against 
what  she  determined  to  do;  but  she  had  her  way  and 
done  a  very  courageous  deed. 

"  I  can't  write  and  tell  Ted  his  father's  not  forgiven 
him   until   I   know,"   she   said,   "  and   I  won't  take  no 


4>2  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

second-hand  talk  from  the  '  Hearty  Welcome  '  about 
it  neither,  so  I'm  going  to  see  the  man  face  to  face ; 
then  I'll  write  and  tell  Teddy." 

And  she  did  it,  brave  as  a  lion,  and  walked  into 
Silver  Thimble  Farm  and  up  to  Tresidda  where  he  sat 
at  his  dinner.  He  turned  properly  purple  with  rage 
at  the  sight  of  her,  and  purpler  still  afore  she'd 
done. 

"  I  only  want  a  word  with  you,"  she  said,  "  and  you 
can  give  me  a  civil  answer,  or  not,  as  you  mind  to. 
Your  son,  my  sweetheart,  Teddy  —  he's  wounded  in  the 
shoulder,  and  he'll  come  back  to  England  in  a  fortnight 
from  now,  and  he's  wishful  to  know  if  you've  forgiven 
him,  and  if  he  can  come  home-along  for  me  to  nurse  him 
well  again  .P  " 

He  scowled  and  clutched  his  knife,  but  she  weren't 
feared,  and  kept  her  black,  scornful  eyes  on  the  man 
and  gave  him  look  for  look. 

"  Get  out  of  this,  you  imperent  young  whelp,  or, 
girl  as  you  are,  I'll  give  you  a  good  hiding !  " 

That's  what  he  said  to  her,  and  she  said : 

"  Then  3^ou  haven't  forgiven  him  ?  " 

"  Forgive  him !  "  he  cried  out.  "  I'd  see  him  blown 
to  dust  by  German  guns  afore  I'd  forgive  him.  He's 
less  to  me  than  the  crust  of  my  bread,  and  I  wish  he 
was  filling  a  nameless  grave  at  this  minute,  for  his  body 
will  do  more  good  under  the  earth  thaji  ever  it  will  on 
top  of  it." 

She  flared  up  at  that. 

"  You  beast !  "  she  cried  out.  "  If  the  German  bullet 
have  let  3'our  blood  out  of  Teddy,  so  much  the  better 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  43 

for  him.  You  vile  dog  to  say  such  things  of  a  man 
that's  too  good  to  breathe  the  same  air  with  you ! 
Curse  you,  you  evil  blight  —  him  falling  for  his  country 
and  you  hoarding  your  grain,  though  God  knows  any- 
thing that  went  through  your  foul  hands  would  be  like 
to  poison  the  man  that  ate  it  after!  " 

With  that  he  lost  his  temper  and  flung  his  knife  at 
her  where  she  stood,  a  proper  tragedy  queen,  by  the 
door.  If  it  had  gone  home  there'd  have  been  a  pretty 
story  to  tell  Ted  Tresidda  presently,  but  it  missed 
Milly's  neck  by  six  inches  and  stuck  all  a-quiver  in  the 
dern  of  the  door. 

"  You  snake,"  she  said,  white  with  rage  and  looking 
as  if  she'd  fly  at  him ;  "  you  brutal,  cowardly  wretch, 
you'll  pay  for  that,  and  if  God  don't  smite  you  for  it, 
the  devil  shall !  " 

Very  like  a  young  witch  she  looked  as  she  said  it, 
and  the  woman  that  kept  house  for  Tresidda  and  was 
there  at  the  time,  told  me  after  that  a  nest  of  vipers 
couldn't  have  hissed  out  the  threat  fiercer  than  what 
Milly  did. 

She  was  gone  afore  Tresidda  could  answer,  and 
there's  no  doubt  that  either  her  words,  or  alarm  at  what 
he'd  very  nearly  done  in  his  rage,  kept  the  master  of 
Silver  Thimble  pretty  low. 

We  didn't  see  him  for  a  week ;  then  wheat  was  up 
to  fifty  shillings,  and  he  the  only  man  in  our  parts  still 
holding  on.  For  a  bit  we  had  a  spell  of  rare  wet 
weather,  with  rain  rolling  in  off  the  Atlantic  and  prop- 
erly drowning  North  Cornwall,  so  he  couldn't  have 
threshed  if  he'd  wanted  to ;  but  then  came  March  and 


44.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

brave  drying  winds  and  everything  right  for  the  busi- 
ness. 

Meantime,  Samson  Jago,  greatly  daring,  had  told 
Teddy  Tresidda  by  the  hand  of  Milly  that,  though  his 
father  didn't  own  him  no  more,  he  might  come  to  his 
future  father-in-law  as  soon  as  ever  he  liked.  And  it 
was  understood  that  when  Teddy  was  well  enough,  he 
should  find  a  home  along  with  the  Jagos  at  St.  Tid. 

Yet,  so  strange  are  the  ways  of  Providence,  that 
when  Teddy  did  come  back  in  a  hospital  ship  to  South- 
ampton only  ten  days  later,  it  was  to  Silver  Thimble 
Farm  down  b}^  the  cliffs  he  went,  after  all,  and  not  to 
his  sweetheart's  home. 

For  a  lot  may  happen  in  ten  days  where  you've  got 
determined  wills  working ;  and  a  lot  did  happen. 

And  more  happened  to  >Milly  Jago  than  most,  and 
still  more  befell  farmer  Tresidda,  but  what  happened  to 
the  girl  came  from  her  own  nature,  where  terrible  things 
was  working  now,  and  what  happened  to  Tresidda  came 
from  without,  and  the  man  that  would  hear  no  human 
voice  was  called  to  listen  to  a  louder. 

Milly,  I  must  tell  you,  felt  properly  outraged  by  what 
the  old  rascal  had  done  to  her,  and  none  blamed  her  for 
that ;  but  she  wanted  to  go  a  good  step  further  and  hit 
back. 

She  said  the  old  rip  had  aimed  at  her  life,  and  she 
commanded  her  father  to  have  the  law  of  him  and  get 
him  put  away  in  prison  for  a  bit,  to  show  him  that  he 
couldn't  go  flinging  knives  at  young  women  that  way ; 
but  Samson,  he  was  ever  an  easy  man,  who  didn't  know 
how  to  nurse  his  rage  and  keep  it  warm,  and  though  at 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  45 

first  he  talked  of  going  over  and  breaking  farmer's  neck 
for  him,  he  soon  calmed  down  and  did  no  such  thing. 

"  A  miss  is  as  good  as  a  mile,"  he  said,  "  and  to  the 
likes  of  that  man  no  doubt  your  speech  was  punishment 
enough ;  and,  whether  or  no,  we're  going  to  have  Teddy 
here  come  presently,  and  that'll  sting  the  wretch  more 
than  anything  we  can  do  against  him,  if  his  own  con- 
science don't." 

Milly  was  savage  about  it,  however,  and  went  on  her 
own  to  Lawyer  Pierce  —  a  relation  of  Teddy's  on  his 
mother's  side.  But  Pierce,  though  Milly  didn't  know  it, 
was  used  to  do  a  lot  of  little  odd  jobs  for  Tresidda,  and 
he  tried  to  calm  her  down  and  explain  that  old  men  will 
be  cranky,  and  strongly  advised  her  for  the  sake  of  her 
future  to  let  sleeping  dogs  lie. 

He  felt  kindly  enough  to  the  girl  and  kinder  still  to 
Teddy  Tresidda,  and  he  told  her  what  might  have 
soothed  any  young  thing  less  of  a  tigress  than  Milly 
was ;  but  it  made  no  mark  on  her. 

"  I'll  let  you  into  a  secret,"  said  Lawyer  Pierce,  "  if 
you'll  promise  to  keep  it  one.  Mr.  Tresidda  is  on  to  me 
about  his  new  will,  and  if  'tis  made  as  he  means,  then 
'tis  good-bye  Silver  Thimble  for  Teddy.  But  Tresidda 
hasn't  got  nobody  but  his  son  to  leave  his  place  to, 
and  I'm  putting  him  off  with  the  law's  delays  so  long 
as  I  dare,  because  I'm  hopeful  when  your  sweetheart's 
home,  he'll  go  and  see  his  father  and  work  on  him  and 
save  the  situation.  I  don't  say  there's  much  chance  of 
it,  but  we  never  know  when  human  nature  will  surprise 
us,  and  ever}'^  lawyer  can  tell  you  blood's  thicker  than 
water  when  it  comes  to  the  pinch." 


46  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

A  very  kindly  man,  you  see,  with  proper  lawyer's 
instincts  about  the  rights  of  property  and  so  on;  but 
Milly  was  past  all  that. 

She  went  home  and  sulked ;  and  then  things  happened. 
For  'tis  a  certain  fact  that  if  the  Lord  helps  those  who 
help  themselves,  the  devil's  quite  as  clever  at  it. 

Very  well  I  remember  that  great  night,  for  it  hap- 
pened I  left  the  "  Hearty  Welcome"  just  as  Tresidda 
did.  He'd  told  us  he'd  sent  for  the  machine  and  was 
going  to  thresh  liis  wheat  next  morning,  but  he  could 
hardly  get  a  man  to  pass  the  time  of  day  with  him  now, 
and  I  shouldn't  have  walked  by  his  side  for  a  yard  on 
purpose.  However,  my  road  lay  all  fours  with  his  for 
a  matter  of  three  hundred  yards,  and  he  talked  and  said 
he  was  in  a  mind  to  sell  Silver  Thimble  and  get  out  of 
the  country. 

"  People  ain't  buying  farms,  nowadays,"  I  told  him, 
"  and  'tis  very  certain  you'll  have  to  whistle  for  the 
sort  of  price  you'll  ask." 

Then,  after  a  long  silence,  we  came  to  a  slate  stile, 
where  there  was  right  of  way  over  a  field.  The  place 
stood  high  up  above  the  cliffs.  Tresidda  went  ahead 
and  suddenly  'pon  top  of  the  stile  he  stood  stock  still 
staring  afore  him. 

"  What's  that  light?  "  he  shouts  out. 

"  The  lighthouse  on  Trevose  Head,"  I  answered. 

"  Not  there,  you  zany  —  there,  down  there !  " 

He  pointed  where  Silver  Thimble  lay  a  mile  below, 
and  there,  sure  enough,  was  a  dollop  of  steady  red  flame 
where  no  flame  did  ought  to  have  been. 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  47 

"  You'd  best  trot  along,"  I  said.  "  That's  terrible 
near  your  place  by  the  look  of  it." 

He  was  gone  afore  I'd  done  speaking,  and  being  a  fine 
night,  with  a  steady,  northerly  breeze,  I  followed  after 
—  not  for  no  regard  for  Tresidda;  but  fire's  fire,  and 
duty's  duty,  and  I  felt  I  couldn't  well  go  home  if  man's 
work  had  to  be  done.  I  ain't  so  young  as  I  was,  how- 
ever, and  can't  travel  very  fast  at  best  of  times,  let 
alone  on  a  rough  road  by  starlight,  so  it  was  best  part 
of  a  half-hour  afore  I  got  to  the  trouble.  Long  before 
I  reached  it  I  saw  there  was  big  mischief  doing,  for  the 
flames  rolled  up  sky-high,  and  you  could  hear  the  shout 
of  'em  far  ways  off,  like  the  noise  of  the  sea  through  the 
night.  Silver  Thimble  was  rather  a  lonely  house  mid- 
way between  Trebarwith  Stand  and  St.  Tid,  and  so 
Tresidda  couldn't  count  on  no  help  save  that  from  his 
own  men.  The  young  chaps  had  gone  to  the  war,  of 
course,  and  there  was  only  two  oldish  men  left,  for  the 
lads  he  got  to  help  by  day  went  home  to  Trebarwith  by 
night. 

Well,  'twas  the  man's  wheat  sure  enough,  and  I  don't 
think  the  sea  would  have  put  out  they  stacks,  for 
every  one  of  them  was  alight  to  the  heart  long  afore 
Tresidda  got  home ;  and  though  his  chaps  was  working 
with  buckets,  they  dared  not  get  near  enough  for  fear 
of  getting  their  eyes  scorched  out  of  their  heads.  Five 
great  stacks  there  were,  and  every  one  of  'em  burning 
like  a  tar-barrel.  'Twas  very  clear  it  weren't  no  acci- 
dent, for  in  that  case  one  would  have  catched  first,  and 
it  might  have  been  possible  to  save  three  of  the  five  very 


48  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

likely  ;  but  they  was  all  afire  —  every  jack  one  of  'em  — 
and  the  men  as  had  gone  to  their  beds  swore  the  din  of 
the  fire  had  woke  them  from  their  sleep,  and  they  hadn't 
been  to  work  five  minutes  before  their  master  came  back. 
To  save  a  grain  of  all  that  rare  crop  was  impossible 
from  the  first ;  but  Tresidda  wouldn't  see  it,  and  he 
fought  like  a  demon  and  drove  his  men  to  do  the  like. 

For  my  part  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  farmer 
himself,  and  when  another  man  or  two,  drawn  by  the 
fire,  came  up  presently,  we  did  our  best  to  keep  Tresidda 
out  of  harm.  But  he  shook  us  off,  and  cussed  us  for  a 
lot  of  laz}^  rascals,  and  raved  and  rushed  around  like  a 
cat  on  hot  bricks  wearing  himself  out  with  fruitless 
labour.  At  last  he  fell  backwards  over  a  pig's  trough 
before  a  flap  of  fire  that  thrust  out  in  his  face,  and 
just  then  the  St.  Tid  fire-engine  got  down  with  a  good 
few  friends  to  do  what  they  might.  But  there  weren't 
much  before  them  except  to  see  the  farm  was  safe,  for 
the  stacks  were  burnt  out  by  now,  and  nothing  but 
great,  red-hot,  panting  heaps  of  ashes. 

After  the  flames  died  I  mind  how  terrible  dark  it 
seemed;  but  we  lit  up  in  the  farm  and  carried  in  Tre- 
sidda, who'd  gone  fainty  and  was  in  a  bad  way  by  now. 
We  got  some  brandy  into  the  man,  and  one  of  the  chaps 
that  came  with  the  engine  mounted  a  hoss  and  galloped 
up  over,  hell  for  leather,  to  fetch  doctor.  And  when 
he  came  an  hour  later  he  found  that  Tresidda  had  put 
out  his  thigh  and  strained  his  vitals  into  the  bargain. 

I'd  gone  home  afore  him,  and  next  morning  —  Sun- 
day it  was  —  half  St.  Tid  went  down  to  see  the  night's 
work.     Then  we  heard  how  Samuel  Tresidda  was  in  a 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  49 

terrible  poor  way,  and  doctor  didn't  much  like  the  looks 
of  him. 

O'  Monday  my  wife  saw  a  nurse,  for  two  nurses  he 
had  from  the  first,  and  she  heard  as  the  master  of  Silver 
Thimble  was  a  proper  terrifying  sight,  with  his  hair 
half  singed  off  and  a  burnt  arm,  and  all  sorts  of  trouble 
working  inside  him.  He'd  got  wetted,  too,  messing 
about  with  the  buckets,  and  what  with  his  thigh  and 
his  rage,  for  he  was  like  a  fury  along  with  his  losses,  and 
his  great  anxiety  to  know  if  the  villains  what  done  it 
had  been  catched,  the  man  went  from  bad  to  worse, 
and  in  three  days'  time  'twas  known  as  he  had  a  double 
pneumonia  —  which  by  all  accounts  is  a  very  deep- 
reacliing  and  fatal  thing. 

He  sent  to  Lawyer  Pierce  then,  because  the  doctor 
told  him  it  might  finish  him  off ;  but  Pierce  —  as  had 
serpent  and  dove  very  nicely  mixed  in  him  —  knew  well 
why  Tresidda  wanted  him.  So  he  put  off  going,  and 
warned  the  nurses  in  secret  not  to  let  the  old  chap  write 
anything,  nor  sign  anything,  nor  let  anybody  help  him 
to  do  so. 

'Twas  straining  law  above  a  bit,  I  believe,  and  with 
a  man  at  the  mercy  of  his  fellow-creatures  like  Tresidda 
was,  I  daresay  you  might  call  it  cowardly;  but  you  see 
when  you  know  a  sick  person  in  sight  of  death  wants 
to  do  a  cruel  and  wicked  wrong,  there's  a  good  argu- 
ment against  helping  him.  Anyway,  the  nurses 
wouldn't,  no  more  would  doctor,  and  when  Tresidda  sent 
for  his  farm  men,  neither  of  'em  would  go ;  because 
everybody  knew  what  his  game  was,  and  none  meant  to 
lend  him  a  hand  with  it. 


50  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

The  rage  of  not  being  able  to  cut  Teddy  out  of  the 
farm  didn't  help  the  sick  man  to  get  better  neither; 
and  then,  just  when  we  heard  up  at  St.  Tid  he  was  at 
his  last  gasp,  and  only  hanging  to  life  by  an  eyelid, 
there  came  the  evening  when  Teddy  Tresidda  was  home 
again.  In  fact,  he  got  back  from  Southampton  a  day 
or  two  sooner  than  was  intended  when  he  heard  of  the 
trouble,  and  though  Milly  wanted  him  to  come  to  her 
father's  and  go  down  to  Silver  Thimble  next  day,  he 
wouldn't.  He'd  take  no  denial,  but  reckoned,  come 
what  might,  it  was  his  duty  to  go  there  and  then  to  his 
home.  They  drove  him  down  in  the  trap  from  the 
"  Hearty  Welcome,"  and  he  got  there  in  the  last  of  the 
dimpsy  light,  and  breathed  his  native  air  off  the  Atlan- 
tic, and  marked  where  five  hundred  pounds'  worth  of 
good  corn  had  gone  scat  in  the  fire. 

Then  he  went  in  to  the  sick  chamber,  and  though  he 
knew  his  father,  his  father  didn't  know  him,  for  Samuel 
Tresidda  was  insensible  and  dead  to  the  world. 

He  never  came  to  no  more,  and  at  three  o'clock  next 
morning  he  went  home,  wherever  that  was ;  and  St.  Tid 
couldn't  help  saying  and  feeling  'twas  a  very  good  thing 
he'd  been  took ;  for  if  he'd  got  well  again,  he'd  doubtless 
have  had  a  properly  fearful  revenge  on  everybody  for 
trying  to  stop  him  over  the  business  of  his  will. 

And  then  was  another  nice  question  for  the  law  after- 
wards, because  Milly  Jago  —  shameless  piece  that  she 
was  —  owned  up  to  the  fire.  She'd  done  it,  and  it  very 
near  broke  her  parents'  heart,  I  believe ;  but  such  is  St. 
Tid  that,  bai-ring  the  sorrow  for  good  corn  wasted,  no- 
body worried  the  least  bit,  and  it  seemed  that,  except 


SILVER  THIMBLE  FARM  61 

Teddy  himself,  there  was  none  to  have  her  up  and  get  her 
five  years  in  gaol,  which  she'd  very  well  earned.  The 
police  might  have  made  a  case  'twas  thought,  but  the 
Inspector  had  had  his  troubles  with  Tresidda,  like  most 
people,  and  he  said  he  didn't  know  nothing  about  Milly 
doing  it,  and  declared  that  often  people  will  claim  the 
blame  for  a  crime  just  because  they're  weak-minded. 
So  he  wasn't  prepared  to  take  her  word  for  it ! 

And  Milly  said  to  Ted : 

"  There  'tis  —  and  I  killed  your  father  instead  of  his 
killing  me ;  and  I've  earned  five  years  or  maybe  more  — 
if  not  hanging,  and  you  can  send  me  to  prison  if  you 
mind  to,  or  have  me  strung  up.  And  I  shall  love  you 
just  the  same." 

And  he  said: 

"  Well,  us'll  be  married  first,  Milly,  and  then  us'll 
settle  about  what's  got  to  be  done  to  you." 

So  there  it  was,  and  a  month  afore  he  went  back  to 
the  war  he  wedded  her.  In  fact,  she's  reigning  down  to 
Silver  Thimble  at  this  minute,  and  hoping  to  hear  the 
war's  in  sight  of  the  end,  and  Teddy  soon  coming  home- 
along  for  good  and  all.  But  whether  Teddy  or  his 
wife's  babby  will  be  the  first  to  arrive  at  Silver  Thimble, 
none  can  say  for  the  minute. 

He's  going  to  set  up  a  good  piece  of  St.  Tid  slate  to 
Samuel  Tresidda,  and  he  won't  put  no  lies  on  it  neither, 
but  just  the  date  of  his  father's  birth  and  the  date  of  his 
death,  and  no  more.  Nor  was  the  dead  man  planted  in 
the  ground  along  with  Jane,  his  wife.  It  didn't  seem 
vittv  somehow. 


THE  DREAM 

They  say  you  can  judge  of  a  man  by  the  company  he 
keeps,  and  no  doubt  'tis  a  very  good  test;  but  I  say 
you  can  judge  of  a  man  by  his  view  of  Providence,  for 
no  two  people  take  quite  the  same  view,  and  according 
as  a  man  is  humble  or  vain,  wise  or  foolish,  so  he'll 
look  at  Providence.  And  some,  of  course,  you'll  find 
modest  and  religious,  and  all  they  should  be  when  they 
name  the  subject;  others  will  be  doubtful,  and  they're 
the  godless  sort ;  and  others,  patronising,  and  they're 
the  witless  sort;  and  others  again  be  always  snapping 
and  snarling  at  Providence,  and  always  got  a  new 
grievance  against  it  and  never  a  good  word  for  the 
thing.  Then  some  fawn  on  it,  like  a  dog  on  its  master, 
and  take  everything  Providence  sends  —  good  or  bad  — 
lying  down  as  you  say.  And  others  just  speak  of 
Providence  as  they  find  it ;  and  if  all  goes  well,  they  are 
glad  and  say  kind  words  about  it,  and  if  all  goes  wrong, 
then  they  keep  quiet  and  wait  for  better  times.  But 
that  sort  don't  pretend  nothing,  and  if  Providence 
treats  'em  shameful,  as  it  often  will  the  very  best,  with- 
out a  reason  that  eye  of  man  can  see,  then  they  just 
bend  to  the  blow ;  but  they  won't  kiss  the  hand  that 
smites  'em,  and  they  won't  go  about  saying  it's  all  right, 
when  they  know  it's  all  wrong.  That  sort  don't  help 
parson  at  the  time  of  Harvest  Thanksgiving,  if  there's 

no  harvest;  because  to  say  thank  you  for  nothing  seems 

62 


THE  DREAM  53 

a  bit  unmanly,  in  their  opinion.  Others  again  whisper 
the  name  as  if  it  was  all  ears ;  and  when  they're  having 
a  bit  of  luck,  or  things  be  going  extra  vitty  with  them, 
they  keep  close  as  the  grave  about  it  and  hate  even 
their  fellow-man  should  know,  for  fear  Providence  gets 
wind  of  their  good  fortune  and  swoops  down  upon  'em 
and  upsets  the  applecart,  as  it  so  often  will.  Such 
people  don't  trust  Providence  a  yard,  and  there's  a 
great  many  like  that ;  and,  to  be  quite  open  and  honest, 
I  was  one  of  'em. 

'Tis  different  now,  of  course,  for  by  the  time  you'm 
up  home  seventy-five  3^ears  there's  no  playing  about 
with  Providence  no  more,  and  you've  got  to  trust  it, 
for  by  that  time  there's  little  else  left  to  a  man  he  can 
trust ;  but  in  middle  age,  when  I  was  going  through  my 
"  fifties  "  or  thereabout,  I  wasn't  near  so  respectful  to 
Providence  as  I  be  nowadays,  and  many  a  sharp  and 
bitter  thing  I've  said  against  it.  God  forgive  me,  I 
used  to  dress  down  Providence  something  shameful,  for 
I  had  no  patience  with  the  creature ;  but  'twas  all  sil- 
liness and  weakness  of.  mind  on  my  part,  for,  of  course, 
Providence  be  like  the  Parish  Council,  or  a  Board  of 
Directors  —  there's  only  just  the  name,  and  the  thing 
haven't  got  no  body  to  kick  and  no  soul  to  lose.  I  used 
to  call  Providence  an  "  iron  devil  "  in  hot  summers, 
when  the  springs  ran  dry  and  the  earth  grew  brick  hard 
and  the  grey  bird  couldn't  get  a  worm  out  of  the 
ground  for  love  or  money ;  and  then  in  winter  time, 
when  the  farm  was  up  to  your  knees  in  muck,  I'd  call 
Providence  a  "  muddy  old  swine." 

Looking  back  I  can  see  I  was  a  bit  wilful  like,  though 


54.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

no  vice,  you  understand.  But  my  farm  was  a  bit  too 
much  for  me,  and  the  strain  and  anxiety  got  on  my 
nerves  and  soured  my  temper  sometimes. 

If  my  first  wife  had  lived,  'tis  any  odds  I  should 
have  gone  to  the  deuce ;  but  she  didn't,  and  my  second, 
being  a  far  different  pattern  of  woman,  made  life  at 
Tregulva  more  difficult,  but  a  lot  more  healthy  too. 
In  fact,  looking  back,  I  can  see  the  turning  point  was 
Jane  Mary. 

One  of  them  women  who  hides  her  flavour  like  an  ap- 
ple, for  who  can  tell  Avhat  the  finest  fruit  be  like  till  he's 
bitten  it?  And  who  knows  the  gospel  truth  about  a 
female  till  he's  married  her?  And  to  say  it  not  un- 
kindly, Jane  Mary's  flavour  at  first  was  long  ways  short 
of  her  looks,  and  my  heart  sank  after  two  years  of  mar- 
ried life  to  call  home  her  family  history ;  for  she  was  a 
Tonkin,  and  they  Tonkins  of  St.  Tid  be  forged  of  steel, 
especially  the  women,  and  live  to  four  score  and  ten 
full  often.  We  made  poor  speed  in  double  harness  for 
a  few  years,  and  without  a  doubt  she  was  a  peculiar 
woman.  Her  charge  against  me  was  that  I  would  keep 
bringing  up  my  first  wife  and  talking  of  her  great  suc- 
cess. I  done  it  a-purpose  to  spur  on  Jane  Mary,  and 
any  other  female  would  have  took  shame  to  be  beat  by  a 
woman  in  her  grave ;  but  my  second  didn't  care,  and  all 
she  ever  felt  about  it  was  that  I  made  a  hole  in  my  man- 
ners every  time  I  named  Julitta,  which  was  my  first. 
And  she  knew  she  was  a  lot  better  for  me  really  than 
Julitta  had  ever  been. 

Jane  INIary  always  said  she  weren't  a  fair-weather 
wife,   and   that   was   true.     I  will   give  her  credit   for 


THE  DREAM  55 

great  bravery  in  time  of  trouble;  indeed,  such  was  her 
nature  that  she  Hked  to  be  up  against  a  few  hard  prob- 
lems. A  most  contradictory  woman,  in  fact,  for  when 
all  was  suent  and  proper,  and  I  felt  I  could  see  my 
money  six  months  ahead,  and  enjoy  a  bit  of  extra  com- 
fort here  and  there  in  consequence  —  just  at  those  good 
times  Jane  Mary  would  be  at  her  worst  —  dumpish  and 
bored  and  snappy  in  company  and  a  proper  handful 
behind  the  scenes  at  Tregulva.  But  let  things  look 
threatening  and  the  weather  ugly,  or  a  run  of  bad  luck 
with  the  beasts  come  along  —  then,  if  you'll  believe  it, 
she  would  perk  up  and  be  a  very  present  help  in  time  of 
trouble,  and  a  most  sensible  and  self-contained  human 
creature. 

"  How  the  mischief  is  it,"  I  once  axed  her,  "  that 
when  the  farm  runs  on  oiled  wheels  and  everything's 
right,  and  prices  up  and  joy  and  gladness  in  my  heart 
and  the  fruits  of  the  earth  all  coming  along  just  right, 
you  find  yourself  bored  to  death  and  without  a  bit  of 
kick  and  sprawl  in  your  nature ;  while,  when  all's 
wrong  and  no  hope  nowhere,  and  the  union  workhouse 
fairly  in  sight,  you  wake  up  and  get  going  and  have  the 
time  of  your  life  till  we've  straightened  out  the  coil  and 
can  breathe  again?  " 

And  Jane  Mary  said: 

"  That's  where  me  and  Julitta  be  different,  I  reckon. 
For  when  the  luck's  good  and  all  running  so  smooth 
as  wedding  bells,  I'm  always  feared  of  my  life  that  'tis 
too  good  to  last,  and  I  see  trouble  hiding  behind  every 
hedge  and  know  the  crash  must  come.  But  if  all's  lost 
and  not  a  blink  of  hope  nowhere,  then  I  feel  the  end  is 


56  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

in  sight,  and  a  change  of  luck's  due,  and  every  day 
brings  us  nearer  to  it." 

A  very  unreasoning  sort  of  woman,  you  see,  yet  she 
was  always  right  in  a  manner  of  speaking,  and  though 
we  went  through  some  fairly  tight  pinches  together  at 
Tregulva,  yet  we  came  out  unharmed  and  turned  many 
a  hopeless  dawn  into  a  tidy  evening.  I  got  in  time  to 
feel  like  she  felt,  that  life  in  reality  be  a  bit  of  a  sport- 
ing fixture,  and  that  every  morning  when  you  open  your 
eyes,  you  don't  know  whether  you'll  win  or  lose  the  race 
3'Ou've  got  to  run  afore  another  sundown. 

And  that  brings  me  to  the  dream,  which,  needless 
to  say,  was  no  work  of  mine;  for  I  never  dreamed  a 
dream  in  my  life,  and  don't  waste  no  time  from  sleep 
dreaming;  whereas  my  second  wife  hardly  sleeps 
through  a  night  without  seeing  strange  things  and  hear- 
ing strange  voices.  'Twas  just  as  much  a  part  of  her 
life  as  eating  her  breakfast,  and  the  things  she  dreamed 
were  mostly  silliness,  though  often  they'd  come  out  true 
in  the  upshot.  In  fact,  a  bit  of  second  sight  went  along 
with  her  dreams,  as  when  she  saw  Nancy  Bake  come 
into  chapel  wearing  a  bonnet  with  a  yellow  popp}'  in  it ; 
and  Nancy  Bake,  sure  enough,  did  so  the  very  next 
Sunday.  And  so,  when,  as  sometimes  happened,  my 
second  wife  dreamed  of  the  future,  I  always  gave  due 
weight  to  the  fact.  Not  that  it  was  any  credit  to  her, 
being  just  a  gift,  like  blue  e^^es  or  any  other  fine  thing; 
yet  it  proved  a  useful  accomplishment  sometimes,  and 
when  she  dreamed  who  stole  my  William  pears  one 
summer,  I  took  her  at  her  word  and  walloped  the  right 
boy  —  to  liis  undying  surprise.     And  then  came  that 


THE  DREAM  57 

black  year  in  the  nineties,  and  again  she  dreamed  a  bit 
of  luck  for  me,  and  my  soul  hungered  to  believe  her, 
though  my  sense  rebelled  against  doing  so. 

A  black  year  I  call  it,  and  so  it  was  in  a  sort  of  way, 
for  we  had  such  a  drought  as  never  was  known  by  living 
man  in  North  Cornwall  before  or  since.  The  very  dew 
forgot  how  to  fall,  and  the  dryth  struck  down  and  down 
till  the  solid  earth  was  baked  so  hard  as  a  brick  a  foot 
under  the  grass,  and  the  trees  began  to  ripe  their  wood 
and  fling  down  their  leaves  while  yet  it  was  July.  As 
for  our  streams,  they  had  fairly  dried  up  to  the  springs, 
and  the  beastly  east  wind,  that  blew  hot  on  your  cheek 
week  after  week,  brought  all  manner  of  plagues  out  of 
the  pitiless  blue  sky.  For  every  blight  and  mildew  and 
canker  that  God  ever  loosed  on  a  wicked  world  for  its 
sins,  came  to  St.  Tid  that  year.  The  broad  beans  was 
black  with  fly,  and  the  rust  got  in  the  corn,  and  the 
stoning  fruit  shrivelled  on  the  bough  and  fell  off  after 
great  promise.  For  the  hope  of  May  only  cast  us  down 
all  the  more  when  the  drought  came,  and  one  by  one 
we  lost  the  chickens  we'd  counted  afore  they  were 
hatched.  The  hay  went  to  glory,  and  the  best  was  thin 
as  an  old  man's  hair  and  not  worth  the  saving.  And 
the  roots  only  broke  through  to  perish.  The  mangel 
and  swede  were  alike  in  vain,  and  a  time  arrived  when 
we  knew  that  hope  was  dead  for  the  roots  and  that 
Noah's  deluge  wouldn't  save  them. 

Day  after  day  of  blistering  sunshine  we  had  till  the 
country  was  brown  as  a  dead  leaf  and  the  people  as 
black  as  niggers,  and  great  fear  growing  in  men's  minds 
for  the  corn.     But  I  was  at  my  last  gasp  long  before 


58  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

harvest,  for  I  had  more  stock  tlian  usual  that*  year  — 
far  more  than  I  could  afford  to  feed  while  the  drought 
held  —  and,  of  course,  nobody  would  buy  the  things 
for  love  or  money ;  so  I  was  reduced  to  a  terrible  low 
ebb,  and  uttered  many  rash  words  against  Providence 
that  I've  felt  ashamed  of  since.  But  to  go  from  March 
to  middle  of  July  without  enough  rain  to  float  a  tad- 
pole —  'twas  enough  to  make  any  man  of  the  soil  say 
harsh  things ;  and  be  sure  I  weren't  the  only  one  who 
shook  his  fist  at  the  sun  and  doubted  the  sense  of  the 
sun's  Maker. 

Of  course,  through  this  awful  catastrophe,  my  wife 
was  at  her  very  best  and  took  a  wonderful  cheerful 
and  Christian  line  of  conduct.  She'd  got  the  faith  that 
moves  mountains,  and  the  lighter  grew  my  purse  the 
brighter  appeared  to  grow  her  hope  and  trust. 

The  great  trouble  to  me  was  my  stock,  for  I'd  raised 
a  rare  lot  of  fine  young  bullocks  that  year,  and  when  the 
trouble  came  and  I  found  I  couldn't  feed  the  creatures, 
and  cast  about  to  sell  'em,  not  a  bid  could  I  get.  In 
fact  everybody  was  selling  and  none  wanted  to  buy. 
'Twas  all  we  could  do  to  water  the  things,  let  alone 
find  grass  for  'em. 

And  then,  in  my  darkest  hour  you  might  say,  when 
it  looked  as  though  I'd  got  to  kill  all  my  creatures  to 
save  'em  from  dying  a  natural  death,  Jane  Mary  had 
her  far-famed  dream.  So  great  was  her  trust  in  dreams 
and  such-like  fansical  and  dangerous  things,  that  you 
couldn't  help  echoing  it  a  bit,  and  though,  as  a  reason- 
able man  with  my  share  of  sense,  I  believe,  and  a  bit 
over  at  the  service  of  other  people,  yet  there  it  was, 


THE  DREAM  59 

and  so  dead  sure  felt  my  wife  that  the  dream  was  bound 
to  come  true,  that  she  put  a  spark  of  her  hopefulness 
into  me.  No  doubt  the  wish  was  father  to  the  thought, 
as  they  say ;  but  be  it  as  'twill,  when  Jane  Mary  woke 
one  red-hot  July  morn  and  told  me  I'd  get  my  money 
for  my  cattle  by  the  last  day  of  the  month,  I  made  my- 
self believe  her.  And  once  I  fairly  got  to  believe,  I  felt 
a  good  bit  of  comfort.  'Twas  a  great  act  of  faith,  no 
doubt,  but  in  my  judgment  faith  is  well  worth  fighting 
for,  and  because  a  thing  don't  seem  within  the  bounds 
of  chance,  there's  no  good  reason  for  refusing  to  be- 
lieve it  may  hap=  And  the  harder  a  holy  fact  is  to 
swallow,  the  greater  the  comfort  if  you  can  once  get  it 
down. 

So  I  shared  my  wife's  sure  trust  that  I  was  going  to 
get  my  money  for  the  bullocks,  and  nobody  was  more 
surprised  than  her  to  find  I  could  do  so.  She  was  a 
good  bit  flattered,  in  fact,  and  said  it  was  quite  a  new 
thing  for  me  to  give  Providence  a  free  hand  in  such  a 
ticklish  matter. 

"  But  you'll  never  regret  it,"  she  said,  "  and  when  it 
happens,  I  hope  you'll  pay  quicker  heed  to  me  in  fu- 
ture, not  for  my  sake  but  your  own.  Once  get  into  the 
way  of  believing  me,"  she  said,  "  and  you'll  never  regret 
it." 

So  I  put  my  bottom  dollar  on  the  bullocks,  and  kept 
'em  fed  at  hitter  cost  to  my  savings  for  a  fortnight. 
Then  the  end  of  the  month  was  in  sight,  but  still  none 
came  forward  to  make  Jane  Mary's  dream  come  true. 
What  did  happen,  however,  was  the  break-up  of  the 
drought,  and,  along  with  it,  the  most  awful  tempest 


60  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

that  any  man  in  North  Cornwall  had  ever  seen.  Not 
the  oldest  could  call  to  mind  such  a  proper  trouble  of 
the  elements,  and  'twill  go  down  to  history,  no  doubt, 
as  a  fair  masterpiece  of  a  thunderstorm. 

The  air  was  sickly  from  dawn  onward,  and  it  growed 
worse  every  minute.  The  sun  rose  like  a  bad  florin, 
and  there  was  a  sort  of  scum  of  thin  cloud,  yellowish 
and  sulphury,  drawed  over  the  blue  sky  by  noon,  and 
the  very  air  grew  so  hot  as  the  breath  of  an  oven. 
Men  sweated  and  the  beasts  ran  about  fearfully ;  then 
the  horizon  to  the  north  grew  dark  as  a  wolf's  mouth, 
and,  coming  up  right  against  the  sick,  hot  wind,  there 
heaved  up  a  proper  terror  of  clouds.  In  fact  it  seemed 
as  if  night  was  rising  from  a  strange  quarter  to  swal- 
low the  day.  The  birds  began  to  go  to  roost,  and  all 
living  things,  humans  included,  grew  restless  and  per- 
plexed. But  at  bottom  the  farmers  were  properly 
thankful  and  welcomed  the  storm ;  and  each  hoped  the 
rain  wouldn't  miss  his  land. 

The  thunder  grew  from  a  growl  far  ways  off  to  a 
harsh  rumble,  as  it  came  nearer,  and  the  lightning 
began  to  trickle  down  the  clouds  —  proper  ribbons  of  it. 
In  fact,  it  looked  as  if  it  had  come  up  out  of  the  earth 
as  well  as  dropped  from  the  sky ;  and  then  a  soimd  grew 
—  a  gentle,  steady  sound  between  the  thunderclaps. 
Some  might  not  have  known  what  that  sound  was ;  but  I 
knew  and  blessed  it,  for  'twas  the  cisterns  of  the  sky 
breaking  up  and  the  rain  falling  in  torrents  and  water- 
spouts ten  miles  off.  It  came  quickly,  however,  and  I 
was  just  going  out  into  five  acre  meadow  —  a  big  level 
field  behind  Tregulva  —  when  the  sky  properly  opened. 


THE  DREAM  61 

Like  a  great,  grey  veil  it  came,  and  I'l  swear  the  light- 
ning ran  over  my  hands  like  hot  water  when  I  ran  out 
with  Tom  Keat,  my  head  man.  The  sheep  dogs 
wouldn't  face  it,  and  the  pair  of  'em  fairly  turned  tail 
and  howled.  But  we  held  on,  because  there  was  a  great 
danger  growing  in  the  meadow,  and  my  stock  —  five- 
and-twenty  fine  young  bullocks  and  heifers  —  would  be 
sure  to  do  the  wrong  thing,  as  cattle  always  will  in  a 
thunderstorm,  and  make  for  the  shelter  of  the  trees. 
For  sheep  and  cattle  be  terrible  put  about  afore  light- 
ning and  thunder.  To  rain  they'll  turn  tail  and  take 
no  count  of  it ;  but  against  lightning  they'll  always  bolt 
for  cover. 

You  couldn't  see  a  hundred  yards  in  front  of  you 
through  that  curtain  of  rain,  and  the  storm  was  right 
overhead.  Such  was  the  rage  of  the  elements  that  my 
voice  wouldn't  carry  to  Keat,  and  I  lost  him  in  the 
midst  of  the  field.  Then  I  got  a  bit  dazed-like  myself, 
and  there  came  a  flash  of  lightning  that  seemed  to  fall 
right  alongside  of  me  and  a  crash  of  thunder  that  prop- 
erly burst  my  earholes.  I  went  down  all  ends  up,  for 
the  smash  throwed  me  off  my  feet.  I  thought,  of 
course,  it  was  the  end,  and  quite  counted  to  open  my 
eyes  in  kingdom  come;  but  the  Lord  kept  me  for  an- 
other time,  and  I  got  my  senses  back  in  half  a  minute, 
and  found  no  harm  had  overtook  mc.  But  I'd  had 
enough  now,  for  I  was  drownded,  and  the  electric  fluid 
had  got  in  my  bones,  and  I  felt  five-acre  meadow  was  no 
place  for  a  Christian  man  just  then.  So  home-along  I 
went  and  shouted  for  the  brandy ;  and  I  told  Tom 
Keat's  wife  that  she  must  prepare  for  the  worst. 


62  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  I'm  cruel  afeared  Tom's  a  goner,"  I  said.  "  The 
lightning  took  me  off  my  feet  like  a  babe,  and  though 
it  spared  my  life,  'tis  any  odds  your  husband  weren't 
so  fortunate.  For  'twas  a  terrible  far-reaching  flash, 
and  if  he  was  in  the  midst  of  it,  he  must  have  gone  to 
his  reward,  for  certain." 

Just  as  I  spoke,  however,  and  gulched  a  drop  of 
spirits  to  steady  ni}'  nerves,  Tom  came  in  sight,  and  we 
thanked  God  for  His  mercies.  He'd  been  served  pretty 
much  like  me,  though  no  worse ;  but  he  was  a  very  faith- 
ful man,  and  his  one  thought  was  for  me ;  and  when  he 
found  me  saved,  his  one  thought  was  for  the  cattle. 
In  fact,  he  wanted  to  go  out  again  and  drive  'em  into 
the  open ;  but  I  wouldn't  suffer  it,  for  I  knew  the  things 
would  be  mad  with  fright,  and  very  likely  turn  on  Tom 
if  he  got  rounding  'em  up  at  such  a  moment. 

When  the  storm  passed  an  hour  later,  and  before  it 
had  time  to  come  round  again,  we  went  out ;  but  not 
until  the  lightning  struck  Tregulva.  It  came  down 
the  chimney  of  an  upper  chamber,  where  our  maiden 
slept,  but  fortunately  she  was  down  house  and  so  es- 
caped. The  lightning  sent  half  the  chimney  into  the 
yard  and  broke  out  the  fire  grate  and  mantelshelf  and 
flung  'em  on  the  girl's  bed !  Then  it  went  out  through 
the  wall  and  didn't  do  no  more  damage  to  the  dwell- 
ing. But  that  wasn't  all  its  work,  for  when  me  and 
Keat  got  out  a  very  fearful  sight  met  our  eyes  under 
the  elm.  Not  a  bullock  stood,  and  the  dogs,  who  was 
feared  no  more,  ran  out  and  tried  to  make  'em  get  up. 
But  'twas  fated  they  should  never  get  up  again,  for 
every   beast  was   dead,  and  the  great  elm,   where  the 


THE  DREAM  63 

silly  things  had  run  for  aid,  stood  torn  all  down  one 
side  and  the  bark  stripped  away  for  twenty  feet,  I 
couldn't  believe  my  eyes. 

There  lay  my  poor  bullocks  and  heifers  in  a  ring 
just  dropped  in  their  tracks  by  the  pole-axe  of  the 
lightning,  and  I  stood  dazed  afore  my  fearful  loss,  and 
so  did  Keat.  For  flesh  struck  to  death  in  a  thunder- 
storm is  Avorthless.  None  can  eat  it,  because  it  turns 
black  and  the  dead  beast  swells  so  big  as  a  mountain 
in  no  time. 

We  went  home-along,  and  Keat  took  my  arm,  for  I 
was  terrible  down-daunted  and  sick  at  heart,  and  not 
even  the  rare  smell  of  the  wet  earth  in  my  nostrils  could 
rouse  me.  It  looked  as  if  this  was  the  last  straw  to 
break  my  back  and  that  I'd  have  to  throw  up  the 
sponge  and  go  bankrupt  when  quarter-day  came  round 
again. 

But  then  came  Jane  Mary  and  heard  the  fatal  news 
and  took  it  as  if  I'd  got  a  legacy. 

"  How  wonderful  be  the  hidden  workings  of  the 
Lord,"  she  said.  "Every  creature  gone?  Then  that 
makes  my  dream  come  true !  " 

I  stared  at  her  and  thought  her  wits  were  flown. 
"  Don't  you  see,"  she  said.  "  You'll  get  your  cash 
for  your  cattle  now  they're  dead,  though  you  couldn't 
while  they  was  living.  'Tis  true  they'll  be  but  small  use 
to  the  owner,  save  for  their  skins  and  horns  and  hoofs ; 
but  they're  yours  no  more ;  they're  insured  against 
death  by  lightning  and  you'll  draw  the  insurance  money 
next  week,  no  doubt,  when  they've  sent  to  see  the  fatal 
scene." 


64  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

I  do  declare  that,  owing  to  the  shock  of  the  storm 
and  the  disaster  of  the  thunderbolt,  I'd  forgot  all  about 
the  insurance:  but  it  came  true  just  as  my  wife  said, 
and  for  the  poor  stricken  carcases  I  got  their  full  value 
and  was  a  made  man  for  the  time  being. 

"  Providence  has  saved  its  bacon  for  once,"  I  said 
to  Jane  Mary. 

"  'Twould  be  more  civil  to  say  that  Providence  has 
saved  yours,"  she  answered  me. 

And,  of  course,  that  was  the  right  and  proper  way 
to   look   at   it. 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES 

How  one  thing  bears  upon  another  is  the  greatest 
ir.ystery  about  life  in  my  opinion,  and  no  doubt  if  we 
could  see  the  network  of  cause  and  effect  spun  and 
spinning  round  us,  it  would  be  a  very  interesting  and 
wonderful  spectacle.  But  while  helpful  to  us  in  some 
ways,  it  would  cast  us  down  in  others ;  for  all  effort 
would  cease  and  hope,  too  often,  die,  if  we  could  rightly 
understand  we  are  the  creatures  of  circumstance,  and 
must  follow  out  the  path  marked  for  us  by  unseen 
forces  working  for  our  good,  or  evil.  For  did  he  know 
he  was  going  to  reach  the  goal  of  his  hopes,  a  man 
would  give  up  troubling  about  the  journey;  and  so  he 
would  if  he  knew  he  wasn't  going  to  reach  it.  In  fact 
'tis  the  uncertainty  of  life  that  is  its  salt,  and  if  we 
had  wits  enough  to  understand  how,  given  the  warp  and 
woof,  a  certain  pattern  must  be  wove,  then  we  should 
know  more  than  is  given  to  us  to  know  and  so  fail  of 
duty. 

"  Red  Larches  "  was  our  farm,  and  you  wouldn't  see 
much  to  note  about  it  if  you'd  passsed  that  road  on 
your  way  to  St.  Tid,  because  it's  a  commonplace  sort 
of  dwelling  —  two-storied  with  thick  walls  and  a  tar- 
pitched  roof  to  keep  out  the  rain  and  the  west  winds 
from  the  sea.  We  stand  pretty  high  and  most  of  our 
land    slopes    away    to   the    cliffs ;   but   south   there's    a 

65 


66  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

coomb,  where  a  tree  or  two  manages  to  raise  its  head 
and  a  stream  winds  down  to  join  a  river  eastward.  A 
good  furze  brake  lies  that  way  also,  and  is  generally 
safe  for  a  brace  of  rabbits  if  your  dog  knows  his  bus- 
iness. 

But  the  queer  thing  about  "  Red  Larches  "  is  this : 
the  farm-house  lies  in  two  parishes  and  half  the  house- 
place  is  in  St.  Tid  and  t'other  half  in  Lanteagle.  So 
it  follows  that  the  parlour  and  dairy  and  rooms  up  over 
belong  to  the  one ;  while  the  rest  of  the  house  belongs  to 
the  other.  Same  with  the  land;  but  the  bulk  of  our 
two  hundred  acres  is  St.  Tid's  and  we  only  pay  tithes 
to  Lanteagle  for  a  water  meadow  and  ten  acres  of 
arable. 

•  Well,  of  course,  there's  scores  and  scores  of  other 
dwelling-houses  that  must  have  their  foundations  in 
two  parishes,  or  two  counties  for  that  matter;  and  I 
myself  have  stood  before  today  with  one  foot  in  Devon 
and  the  other  in  Cornwall,  but  the  very  strange  tale  to 
be  told  hangs  upon  this  peculiar  accident  and  makes 
good  my  first  remark,  that  the  way  things  bear  upon 
each  other  is  the  greatest  mystery  of  life.  It  is  not 
often  given  to  us  to  see  the  mysteries  working,  I  grant, 
and  when  once  in  a  way  we  do  so,  then  we  learn  much 
worth  knowing  from  it  and  see  how  the  Lord  uses  even 
such  little  accidents  as  a  house  in  two  parishes  for  His 
own  good  purpose. 

When  this  thing  happened  there  were  three  Nathaniel 
Jagos  all  at  "Red  Larches"  together;  namely,  my 
grandfather,  my  father  and  myself.  For  "  Nathaniel  " 
was  always  the  name  of  the  eldest  son  in  our  family,  and 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  67 

so  it  came  about  that  there  was  Mr.  Jago  Senior,  or 
"  Uncle  Nathan,"  as  everybody  called  him,  and  Mr. 
Jago,  which  meant  my  father,  and  just  Nat,  which 
meant  me.  As  for  father,  he'd  been  an  only  child,  but 
I  had  three  brothers,  two  gone  for  sailors  and  one  in 
the  slate  quarries  at  St.  Tid.  Grandmother  was  dead 
and  my  mother  ran  the  farm  and  looked  after  us  men. 
Nor  was  grandfather  a  bed-lier,  or  past  work  for  all 
his  eighty  years.  He'd  do  his  share  as  peart  as  any  old 
man ;  and  best  he  loved  to  labour  in  haytime  and  har- 
vest. To  be  on  the  machine  mower  and  cut  the  hay 
was  his  particular  delight. 

He  was  a  sunny  old  man  to  his  dying  day  and  always 
looked  at  the  hopeful  side,  which  is  a  rare  gift  in  those 
who  work  on  the  land.  But  at  twenty  year  old  and 
earlier  than  that  I  had  sense  to  mark  the  difference 
between  him  and  father,  and  I  determined  on  the  quiet 
to  grow  up  like  grandfather  and  put  a  good  face  on 
things  and  not  shout  out  before  I  was  hit,  and  fancy 
everybody  was  an  enemy,  same  as  father  did.  They 
were  both  very  Godfearing  men ;  but  with  a  difference, 
for  father  feared  more  than  he  trusted  and  grandfather 
trusted  more  than  he  feared.  Father  was  close  and 
grandfather  was  open ;  father  never  seemed  to  think 
other  people  was  doing  the  fair  thing  by  him ;  grand- 
father often  wondered  if  he  was  doing  the  fair  thing  by 
other  people. 

The  old  man  kept  the  reins  too  —  not  for  lack  of  love 
for  my  father,  but  because  he  held  to  it  that  while  a 
body  had  his  wits  and  sense  and  energy  he'd  got  no 
right  to  lay  down  his  burden.      So  he  was  master,  and 


68  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

my  father,  who,  despite  all  his  temper  and  suspicious 
ways,  loved  grandfather  and  honoured  him  higher  than 
all  men,  was  very  pleased  to  serve  liim,  as  he  had  served 
all  his  life,  and  didn't  look  forward  at  all  to  the  day 
when  he'd  own  "  Red  Larches."  No  more  did  I  for  that 
matter.  Father  himself  was  up  home  fifty-five  and  I 
was  two-and-twenty  when  these  things  fell  out. 

Life  was  going  along  very  steady  when,  owing  to  my 
father's  cranky  temper,  an  awkward  and  unpleasant 
event  happened.  Our  head  man,  Aaron  Chirgwin, 
decided  to  get  married,  and  after  being  tokened  to  a 
maiden  for  three  year,  he  set  out  into  double  harness. 
But  he  had  no  mind  to  leave  grandfather  and  weren't 
going  to.  His  wife  was  Jane  Polwarn,  from  "  Lower 
Ford,"  in  Lanteagle  parish  —  a  very  good  dairymaid 
and  a  church-goer,  like  Aaron  himself;  and  as  my 
mother  had  long  been  crying  out  for  a  new  dairymaid, 
it  all  suited  very  well. 

Then  began  fathers  famous  feud  with  the  Reverend 
Mr.  White,  vicar  of  Lanteagle ;  for  that  gentleman,  see- 
ing that  Jane  Polwarn  was  one  of  his  parisliioners  and 
had  taught  in  his  Sunda}'  School,  was  very  wishful  that 
she  should  be  married  in  his  church,  but  my  father,  who 
had  more  than  one  breeze  with  the  reverend  gentleman 
over  tithes,  didn't  wish  it  and  was  very  anxious  for  the 
wedding  to  take  place  at  St.  Tid's. 

"  He's  only  after  the  fees,"  said  father  to  Chirgwin. 
"  He's  one  of  them  grasping  men  and  grabs  all  he  can 
put  his  hands  on,  and  devours  widows'  houses,  as  we 
all  know.  As  if  that  glebe  to  Lanteagle  wasn't  enough, 
and  more  than  enough,  for  any  man  short  of  a  miser." 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  69 

This  was  true,  I  dare  say,  for  there  were  plenty  of 
stories  to  show  the  vicar  of  Lanteagle  a  keen  customer 
where  pounds,  shillings  and  pence  were  concerned. 
And  father  declared  the  Reverend  White  had  bested 
Jane  Polwarn's  master  over  a  horse,  only  six  months 
before  her  wedding  was  announced,  and  grandfather 
blamed  him  a  good  deal  and  said  it  was  going  too  far 
and  a  most  unchristian  thing  to  say  so. 

At  any  rate  Aaron  felt  quite  willing  to  be  married 
where  my  father  pleased,  for  so  long  as  it  was  in  a  place 
of  worship  in  the  Church  of  England,  he  didn't  mind 
and  was  always  wishful  to  please  the  family.  He  agreed 
to  be  wed  at  St.  Tid,  and  then,  a  week  later,  he  met  the 
Reverend  Wliite  and  the  gentleman  talked  him  round 
and  convinced  him  that  he  ought  to  be  married  at 
Lanteagle. 

Aaron  explained  when  he  came  back  to  "  Red 
Larches,"  and  said  he  didn't  want  no  fuss  with  quality 
and  so  he'd  better,  perhaps,  fall  in  with  the  vicar  of 
Lanteagle  and  be  married  in  Jane  Polwarn's  parish ; 
but  that  didn't  suit  father  at  all.  He  told  Aaron  to 
his  face  he  was  a  weak  worm  and  not  worthy  of  us,  and 
he  went  further  and  ordered  him  to  put  up  the  banns  at 
St.  Tid  the  very  next  Sunday. 

"  You  sleep  in  the  west  dormer  attic  anyway,"  said 
father,  "  and  that's  in  St.  Tid,  so  you've  got  nothing 
to  do  with  Lanteagle.  I  make  it  a  personal  matter  and 
Jane  Polwarn's  not  such  a  fool  as  to  stand  out  against 
me,  I  should  hope." 

He  was  very  much  annoyed  and,  as  fate  willed,  he 
met  Parson  White  two  days  later  in  the  train  going  to 


70  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Launceston.  And  by  all  accounts  father  must  have 
said  some  sharp  things ;  for  the  reverend  gentleman 
changed  carriages  at  Camelford,  and  it  was  five  years 
before  he  ever  spoke  to  father  again. 

He  came  back  from  market  triumphant,  did  father, 
and  told  grandfather  what  he'd  said;  and  grandfather 
was  a  good  bit  vexed  about  it  and  thought  father  had 
done  wrong. 

"  I  let  him  have  the  ugly  truth,"  said  father. 
"  There  was  none  in  the  compartment  but  me  and  him, 
and  I  told  the  man  he'd  got  a  very  bad  character  in 
North  Cornwall  and  not  worse  than  he  deserved." 
"  '  You're  a  lot  too  sharp  after  the  dibs  for  a  man  of 
God  '  —  that's  what  I  told  him,"  said  father.  "  '  You 
use  religion  like  a  cloak,'  I  said,  '  to  hide  your  worldly 
mind  and  your  grasping  nature.  And  what's  the  re- 
sult? You're  driving  the  people  to  chapel  and  mak- 
ing the  Church  of  England  a  laughing-stock.  'Tis 
a  most  ill-convenient  thing  I  can  tell  you,  and  a  good 
few  of  us  thinking  men  are  a  lot  put  about  over  it. 
And  you'll  empty  your  church  —  that's  what  you'll  do. 
And  I  don't  speak  without  the  book,  because  I  know 
what  you  tried  to  do  against  us  about  my  tithes  and 
what  you  succeeded  in  doing  about  the  hoss  you  sold  to 
Jack  Baskervdlle  at  "  Lower  Ford."  And  these  things 
are  recorded.  And  as  to  the  girl  that's  going  to  marry 
my  head-man,  I'll  have  you  to  know  that  they  wed  in 
St.  Tid's,  where  I  worship  —  and  why  not?  '  " 

So  father  had  spoken  and  then  Parson  White,  who 
was  a  younger  man  than  father,  had  lost  his  temper, 
and   threatened   to   have   father  up  for  libel   and  said 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  71 

'twas  a  shame  such  a  man  should  be  running  loose  to 

backbite  his  neighbours. 

"  Do  so,"  said  father.      "  Have  the  law  of  me  by  all 

means.     I'm  ready  and  willing  to  testify  to  what  I've 

said.     And  I  tell  you  that  you  ill  become  your  cloth. 

And  Jane  Polwarn  and  Aaron  Chirgwin  don't  marry 

from  your  church,  whether  or  no,  because  I've  defied 

them  to  do  so." 

Then  the  train  stopped  at  Camelford  and  the  vicar  of 

Lanteagle  said  not  another  word,  but  just  looked  at 

father  and  changed  his  carriage. 

Of  course  father  had  gone  much  too  far;  he  always 

did   when   he    was    excited.     And   grandfather   blamed 

him  sharply  for  letting  his  temper  run  away  with  him 
and  strongly  advised  him  to  ride  over  to  Lanteagle  at 
the  first  opportunity  and  say  he  was  sorr3\  But  father 
scorned  the  thought.  He'd  been  wanting  to  get  his  own 
back  from  the  Reverend  White  for  a  long  time ;  and  now 
he  considered  they  were  quits. 

We  all  went  to  the  wedding,  which  was  duly  cele- 
brated at  St.  Tid's,  and  a  good  rally  of  neighbours 
came  to  the  feast  at  "  Lower  Ford  "  after,  for  the  Bas- 
kervilles  were  very  fond  of  Aaron's  bride  and  sent  her 
off  as  handsome  as  if  she'd  been  their  own  daughter. 

Father  hoped  that  Parson  White  would  do  something 
about  it  and,  in  one  of  his  excited  moments,  he  went 
so  far  as  to  picture  himself  called  up  afore  a  judge  to 
talk  about  his  enemy;  but  even  I  knew  it  was  all  non- 
sense; because  if  Parson  White  was  fond  of  the  money, 
that  weren't  to  make  him  out  the  rascal  father  declared 
liim  to  be.     For  that  matter  father  was  a  pretty  close 


72  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

bird  himself,  and  he  always  said  he  had  to  be,  because 
grandfather  was  so  terrible  open-handed. 

There  was  chipping  in  letters  every  year  over  the 
tithes,  and  then  parson  and  father  met  on  a  conmiittee 
called  together  to  decide  how  we  should  celebrate  the 
coronation  of  liis  late  Majesty,  King  Edward  VII. 
And  the  Reverend  White,  being  in  the  chair  on  that 
occasion,  had  his  knife  into  father  before  some  of  the 
leaders  in  the  district  and  made  him  look  foolish  and 
got  a  laugh  at  his  expense.  So  that  kept  the  famous 
feud  going  between  'em,  and  father,  after  the  meeting, 
which  turned  down  all  his  ideas  how  best  to  celebrate 
the  coronation,  said  that  them  laughed  longest  who 
laughed  last,  and  that  he'd  be  even  with  the  holy  man 
yet.  His  only  regret  was  we'd  got  a  foot  in  Lanteagle, 
and  if  it  had  been  possible,  I'm  sure  he'd  have  uprooted 
"  Red  Larches,"  so  as  not  a  brick  of  the  farm-house,  or 
a  rood  of  the  land,  should  lie  in  that  parish. 

Then  there  fell  a  dark  day  when  trouble  broke  in 
upon  us  like  an  armed  man  and  we  were  faced  with  a 
cruel  and  sudden  shock.  'Twas  a  thing  that  had  surely 
to  be  by  the  laws  of  Nature,  and  yet  it  crushed  us  when 
it  came,  for  there's  many  and  many  a  grief  we  know 
lies  ahead,  and  for  which  we  are  well  enough  prepared, 
and  3'et,  when  it  happens,  our  human  nature  ain't  proof 
against  suffering  and  it  turns  the  heart  to  water. 

Grandfather  had  been  doing  the  work  his  soul  de- 
lighted in  all  day,  and  that  was  sitting  on  the  mowing 
machine  and  driving  the  pair  of  horses  that  drew  it. 
He  enjoyed  that  task  and  would  be  up  with  the  larks 
when  there  was  mowing  to  be  done.     The  first  to  start 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  73 

and  the  last  to  knock  off  when  the  day  ended  was  he  at 
such  times.  He  often  vexed  father,  because  he  would 
put  in  such  a  long  spell  at  hay  harvest;  but  it  didn't 
seem  to  hurt  him,  and  as  each  year  came  round  grand- 
father would  say  the  same  thing. 

"  '  The  night  cometh,'  "  he'd  say,  "  and  then  no  man 
may  work,  so  as  this  may  very  likely  be  my  last  year 
among  you,  I  must  do  my  bestest,  souls,  as  usual." 

And  so  the  game  old  boy  would  toil  on  until  he  was 
so  weary  that  we  pretty  near  had  to  help  him  off  his 
seat  on  the  mower. 

The  third  day  of  hay  cutting  it  was,  and  he  seemed 
much  as  usual  till  after  supper;  then  he  said  he  felt  as 
perhaps  he'd  overdone  it  a  bit  and  had  better  get  to  bed. 
And  father  burst  out  at  him  and  said  that  it  was  no 
better  than  shortening  his  life  and  might  very  likely  end 
in  suicide  if  he  persisted.  But  grandfather  only 
laughed  and  went  to  his  rest ;  and  my  mother  looked  in 
at  him  the  last  thing  and  put  a  little  eggy  pudden  by  his 
side,  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  having ;  for  he  always 
ate  very  light  and  slept  very  light;  and  sometimes  a 
mouthful  in  the  small  hours  would  stay  his  stomach  and 
help  him  to  slumber  again. 

Mother  came  dowTi  in  two  minutes  and  said  he  was 
sleeping  very  comfortable,  so  we  troubled  no  more 
about  him  and  went  to  our  beds  as  usual. 

Not  a  sound  did  we  hear  in  the  night  neither;  but 
when  day  came  and  my  mother,  according  to  her  cus- 
tom, took  the  old  bird  an  early  cup  of  tea  at  half  after 
five  o'clock,  she  gave  a  loud  cry,  and  father  and  me,  at 
breakfast  below,  dropped  our  food  and  rushed  up  over 


74  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

the  stairs  so  fast  as  we  could  run.  And  there  was 
grandfather  on  his  back,  calm  and  smiling  and  looking 
twenty  years  younger  than  when  he  went  to  bed.  Cold 
as  a  quilkin  ^  was  he,  and  though  I'd  never  seen  death 
before,  I  knew  at  a  glance  the  dear  old  man  must  be  a 
goner.  Mother  wept  bitter  tears  over  him  and  so  did  I, 
for  it  seemed  as  though  the  world  couldn't  go  on  without 
grandfather ;  but  my  father  for  once  kept  his  head 
better  than  an}'  of  us,  and  he  told  mother  to  make  all 
seemly  and  he  bade  me  get  on  a  horse  and  ride  off  to 
Lanteagle  for  the  doctor  and  call  and  tell  Mrs.  Bake- 
well,  the  nurse,  to  come  and  help  mother  lay  grand- 
father out.  So,  glad  of  something  to  occupy  my  mind, 
I  went  and  rode  off  at  a  gallop,  though  well  I  knew  fifty 
doctors  couldn't  bring  back  the  life  to  grandfather. 

And  when,  an  hour  or  two  later,  the  doctor  came,  he 
said  'twas  a  very  good  death  for  the  old  man,  though  a 
curious  one.  And  indeed  sudden  death  is  only  terrible 
for  them  that  be  left  behind,  and  no  doubt  that's  why 
the  living  pray  against  it.  The  doctor  said  that  in  all 
likelihood  'twas  heart  failure  from  so  much  over-exertion 
the  day  before;  and  I  think  father  was  glad  in  a  way 
that  was  the  cause,  for  he'd  told  grandfather  time  and 
again  not  to  work  so  hard.  So  he  had  nought  on  his 
conscience.  Doctor  looked  the  old  man  over  and 
thought  there  were  queer  points  about  it  and  reckoned 
we  might  have  to  call  an  inquest.  He  was  busy  just 
then,  but  said  he'd  call  in  again. 

Of  course  we  was  all  over  the  place  that  day  and 
forgot  about  the  hay  and  everything;  and  from  being 
1  Quilkin.     Frog. 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  75 

pretty  sensible,  father  grew  more  and  more  flustered  as 
the  time  wore  on,  and  'twas  all  mother  could  do  to  keep 
him  calm.  For  an^^thing  like  a  surprise  ahvaj's  threw 
father  out  of  his  gait,  and  now,  what  with  the  lawyer 
and  the  undertaker,  and  all  the  needful  writing  to  call 
relations  to  the  funeral  and  break  the  black  news  to 
'em,  let  alone  the  hay  crying  out  to  be  made,  my  poor 
father  lost  his  self-control  something  shocking.  And 
when  mother  chid  him  and  told  him  to  face  his  duty  in 
a  more  manful  spirit  and  not  run  about  wringing  his 
hands  like  a  girl,  he  let  loose  his  anger  on  her,  and  said 
some  crooked  words,  and  made  me  so  savage  that  for 
two  pins  I'd  have  said  undutiful  things  to  the  man  and, 
no  doubt,  repented  of  'em  ever  after. 

When  she'd  took  a  cup  of  tea  to  steady  her  nerves, 
mother  went  in  the  garden  to  calm  herself  and  pick 
some  flowers  for  the  death  chamber;  and  father  was 
just  saying  that  we  ought  to  put  a  bit  of  crape  on  the 
bee-butts,  because  'tis  very  unlucky  and  leads  to  great 
trouble  if  you  don't  tell  the  bees  of  a  death,  when  that 
happened  you  might  say  was  worse  than  anything  that 
had  gone  before. 

For,  looking  out  of  the  window,  what  should  I  see 
walking  up  the  flower  garden  but  the  form  of  the 
Reverend  White ! 

"  Good  Lord,  father !  "  I  said,  "  if  here  ain't  parson 
from  Lanteagle  coming  to  call  upon  you." 

And  father,  who  read  far  deeper  into  that  than  I  did, 
very  near  choked  over  a  mug  of  tea  he  was  drinking  at 
the  time  and  started  to  his  feet  in  a  proper  frenzy  of 
excitement. 


76  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  That's  the  limit  of  endurance !  "  he  said.  "  A  very 
little  more  and  I  shall  lose  my  reason.  And,  as  it  is, 
I  envy  the  dead,  for  they  be  out  of  the  fret  and  torment 
of  their  fellow  creatures." 

"  He's  only  coming  to  offer  the  comfort  of  his  holy 
calling,  you  may  be  sure,"  I  told  father.  "  'Tis  the 
man's  business  to  visit  the  house  of  the  dead  and  say 
words  that  will  calm  you  down  and  dry  mother's  tears." 

But  father  took  a  much  darker  view  than  that. 

"  Not  him !  "  he  said.  "  That's  not  why  he's  here. 
He  wants  to  see  where  father  breathed  his  last,  and  he 
be  come  to  have  a  look  at  the  blessed  dead  for  his  own 
dark  ends  and  wicked  reasons.  I  know  him  —  the 
rogue !  " 

The  vicar  of  Lanteagle  was  at  the  door  by  now  and 
he'd  already  given  a  gentle  knock;  but  father  forbade 
the  maiden  to  answer. 

"  I  won't  let  him  in,"  he  said.  "  God's  my  judge, 
but  he  shan't  enter  this  house  nor  see  my  father's 
dust." 

"Why  for  not?  "  I  asked.  "  He  can't  do  no  harm 
to  poor  grandfather.  He  never  had  no  quarrel  with 
him ;  and  grandfather  would  like  to  think  a  holy  man 
had  put  up  a  prayer  over  his  clay.  You  may  be  sure 
of  that." 

"Stuff!"  said  father.  "You  speak  like  a  ninny- 
hammer  and  don't  know  nothing  of  the  world.  He's 
come  to  see  whether  the  old  man  died  in  his  parish,  or 
St.  Tid's,  and  when  he  knows  that  it  was  in  Lanteagle 
his  bedchamber  stands,  he'll  grab  him  for  his  graveyard 
and  get  the  fees." 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  77 

Well,  somehow,  I  never  thought  upon  such  a  thing  as 
that.  Besides,  us  Jagos  had  all  been  laid  in  the  bury- 
ing-ground  at  Lanteagle  for  years  and  years,  and  my 
grandmother  was  there,  and  a  row  of  the  family  dating 
back  to  the  first  George.      So  I  said, 

"  Surely  he'll  be  teeled  ^  along  with  grandmother?  " 

Then  parson  knocked  again,  a  bit  louder,  and  I  felt 
positive  from  the  first  that  he'd  merely  come  to  say  the 
word  in  season  and  had  no  thought  of  burial  fees  nor 
nothing  like  that ;  but  father  was  working  himself  up 
into  a  proper  flame,  and  I  used  my  wits  and  made  a 
suggestion. 

"  If  you  think  so,"  I  said,  "  us  had  better  to  circum- 
vent the  holy  man  while  there's  time.  And  so  you'd 
best  tell  Jenifer  to  let  him  in  the  parlour  and  keep  him 
there  for  five  minutes ;  and  meanwhile  you  and  me  can 
carry  poor  old  grandfather  across  and  put  him  in  my 
bedroom,  which  be  in  St.  Tid  parish.  Then  the  reverend 
gentleman's  done ;  because  if  grandfather  lies  in  St. 
Tid's,  he  dursn't  lay  hands  upon  him." 

We  found  out  afterwards  that  it  was  all  nonsense  on 
my  father's  part  and  that  nobody  had  no  power  over 
the  corpse,  no  matter  where  he'd  died ;  but  at  the  time, 
properly  flummoxed  as  he  was,  father  catched  at  the 
idea,  and  we  went  upstairs  and  Jenifer  let  the  parson 
in. 

And  me  and  father  set  about  to  carry  our  dead  across 
from  Lanteagle  into  St.  Tid. 

Full  twenty  yards  we  had  to  take  him,  by  some  wind- 
ing passages  with  a  step  or  two,  and  at  one  step,  which 
1  Teeled.     Buried. 


78  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

father  forgot,  he  tripped  and  fell  to  his  knees  and  gave 
the  blessed  dead  a  proper  shaking.  In  fact,  if  father 
hadn't  let  go  of  the  old  man's  feet,  he'd  have  broke  his 
own  neck.  And  I  dare  say,  feeling  as  he  was,  he 
wouldn't  have  been  sorry  if  he  had.  But  he  saved  him- 
self and  used  the  awfulest  language  and  then  picked  up 
the  feet  of  the  poor  old  man.  And  so  we  carried  him  to 
my  chamber.  Then  we  put  him  in  my  bed  and  composed 
him,  and  covered  his  old  ej^es  again  with  two  penny 
pieces,  for  him  though  they  were,  they  was  open  and 
had  a  haunting  touch  of  life  about  'em  still ;  and  I 
knew  I  should  creep  to  my  last  day  when  I  thought 
upon  them.  In  the  excitement  I  hadn't  time  to  spare 
a  moment  to  the  future ;  but,  as  I  went  down  house 
again  and  calmed  father  before  he  marched  in  to  see  the 
enemy,  I  couldn't  help  but  feel  that  my  sleeping  room 
would  be  haunted  for  evermore  by  the  spectrum  of  poor 
grandfather. 

Now  we  were  in  the  room  just  over  that  in  which 
Parson  White  waited  for  my  father  to  see  him,  and  the 
deed  done,  father  grew  a  bit  easier,  and  was  so  self- 
possessed  as  to  ask  Jenifer  for  a  brush  and  smoothed 
down  his  hair  before  he  went  into  the  parlour. 

And  at  the  same  moment  my  mother  returned  from 
tlie  garden  with  a  very  fine  nosegay  of  stocks  and 
montUy  roses  to  put  on  the  old  man's  breast. 

Parson  began  on  'em  instantly. 

"  In  his  sleep,  last  night,  I  hear  that  our  dear  old 
friend  passed  away,"  he  said.  "  A  beautiful  end  for 
one  so  well  prepared." 

"  So  it  was  then,"  answered  my  mother.     "  And  if 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  79 

you  wish  to  look  upon  him,  sir,  you'll  see  a  corpse  that 
shows  death  have  got  no  sting." 

"  I  should  like  to  do  so  —  and  kneel  beside  him," 
said  parson.  "  The  presence  of  death  should  always 
bring  its  solemn  message  to  the  living,  my  friends, 
and  I  can  honestly  say  I  have  won  many  a  valuable 
lesson  from  the  death  chamber  of  even  a  little 
child." 

Well,  what  could  have  been  nicer  than  that?  For 
my  part  I'm  sure  the  reverend  gentleman  meant  nothing 
but  good  to  us  and  spoke  with  no  mean  thought  of 
gain;  and  I'm  certain  sure  he  didn't  care  a  button 
whether  grandfather  had  died  in  Lanteagle  or  St.  Tid. 
Mother  was  of  the  same  opinion,  as  she  said  after; 
but  father  read  all  manner  of  devilry  into  the  speech, 
and  when  he  said  he'd  like  to  see  grandfather,  of  course 
my  poor  father  was  certain  sure  he  wanted  to  mark  the 
corpse  down  in  Lanteagle  and  claim  it  for  his  burying- 
ground. 

"  He  died  in  St,  Tid,  I  must  tell  you,"  says  father, 
scowling  at  mother  to  keep  her  mouth  shut.  "  He  lies 
in  the  chamber  over  this  room,  and  that's  St.  Tid.  Yes, 
his  usual  room  was  the  other  side  of  ope-Avay,  I  grant ; 
but  he'd  changed  it,  you  see." 

Parson  White  weren't  troubled  by  this  whopper  from 
father,  and  I  don't  suppose  he  knew  or  cared  where  our 
old  man  was  in  the  habit  of  sleeping.  INIother  stared 
and  very  near  let  fall  her  nosegay,  and  then  that  hap- 
pened far  more  wonderful  yet,  for  just  as  father  was 
starting  through  the  open  door  and  parson  after  him, 
what  should  we  hear  above  us  but  a  voice ! 


80  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

A  tliin,  weak  voice  sure  enough ;  but  my  grandfather's 
for  a  million;  and  he  said: 

"  Guy  Fawkes  and  angels,  where  be  I  got  to?  " 

Mother  went  down  lumpus  in  a  faint,  and  I  set  about 
her,  and  knowing  the  thing  to  do  was  to  burn  a  feather 
under  the  nose  of  a  fainting  creature,  took  a  feather 
from  the  mantelshelf,  where  they  stand  for  us  to  clean 
out  pipes  with,  and  lit  up  under  mother's  nose ;  and 
father  rushed  up  over-stairs  with  his  hair  on  end  and 
the  Reverend  White  followed  after. 

Such  an  upstore  there  never  was  on  land  or  sea,  I 
reckon,  and  when  mother  come  to,  I  let  her  be  and  went 
to  the  kitchen  for  the  brandy  bottle  and  galloped  aloft 
to  find  grandfather  sitting  up  in  father's  arms  dazed 
like,  but  alive  as  need  be.  'Twas  clear  he'd  failed  in  a 
catalepsy,  and  but  for  the  shake  up  we  gave  the  dear 
old  man  trundling  him  into  my  sleep  room,  he'd  surely 
have  gone  to  his  coffin  and  his  grave  in  that  state,  and 
none  any  the  wiser  but  him  and  his  Maker  till  the  Day 
of  Judgment ! 

Of  course  we  couldn't  conceal  from  grandfather  the 
terrible  disaster  that  had  overtook  him ;  but  when  he 
heard  all  about  it,  he  felt  it  might  have  been  such  a  lot 
worse,  and,  like  the  wise  old  chap  he  was,  he  didn't  take 
on  overmuch.  And  such  was  his  love  of  a  joke,  that 
when  parson  had  gone,  after  congratulating  us  all  very 
properly  on  getting  our  old  hero  back  out  of  the  jaws 
of  the  grave,  and  hoping  that  grandfather  wouldn't 
forget  to  return  thanks  for  his  great  escape,  weak 
though  he  was,  the  sick  man  laughed  like  anj^thing  when 


THE  HOUSE  IN  TWO  PARISHES  81 

he  heard  the  steps  that  father  and  me  had  took  so  as  he 
should  sleep  his  last  sleep  at  St.  Tid. 

And  he  gave  father  a  facer,  too,  for  he  said  it  was  a 
very  clever  thought  of  Providence  to  bring  him  back  to 
life  again  in  that  case,  because  he'd  always  fully  wished 
and  intended  to  be  buried  along  with  grandmother  at 
Lanteagle. 

"  'Twas  a  most  rash  and  unruly  thought,  Nathaniel," 
he  said  to  father,  "  and  without  a  doubt  you  do  take  a 
lot  too  much  upon  yourself,  boy.  And  you  let  your 
notorious  feelings  against  that  good  man  run  away  with 
you.  But  it's  quite  clear  the  Lord  used  you  to  save  me 
from  a  dreadful  doom,  and  I  hope,  if  anything  of  the 
sort  overtakes  me  again,  you'll  all  be  properly  careful 
not  to  put  me  underground  until  the  seal  of  death  be 
wrote  visible  upon  me." 

We  promised  that  f aitliful  enough,  3^ou  may  be  sure ; 
but  when  doctor  came  in  towards  evening  and  shook  the 
old  man  by  the  hand,  and  said  'twas  the  best  thing  that 
had  happened  to  him  that  day,  he  told  us  all  that  we 
need  have  felt  no  fear  of  any  fearful  mistake  of  that 
sort. 

"  I  wasn't  none  too  happy  about  him  this  morning," 
said  doctor,  "  for  there  were  queer  symptoms  I  couldn't 
understand  at  the  time,  and  I  certainly  wouldn't  have 
let  you  put  Mr.  Jago  away  till  I  had  satisfied  myself 
the  life  was  out  of  him  never  to  return.  'Tis  an  un- 
common state,  no  doubt,"  he  said ;  "  but  such  things 
do  happen,  and  'tis  a  doctor's  place  always  to  have  his 
eyes  open  for  fear  of  accidents." 


82  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

He  said  that  without  doubt  the  shock  of  falling  had 
brought  the  suspended  life  back  again ;  and  then  he 
told  us  that  we  must  look  after  grandfather  properly 
careful  and  bade  the  old  man  stop  in  his  bed  for  a  good 
few  days  till  he'd  fetched  up  his  strength  again.  And 
he  dared  him  to  go  on  the  mo^'ing-machine  any  more. 

And  as  for  father  and  mother  and  me,  we  praised 
God,  and  carried  grandfather  back  to  his  own  room. 
And  we  didn't  drop  him  that  time  neither. 

Father  and  mother  sat  up  with  him  every  night  for  a 
week,  and  by  then,  to  use  his  own  words,  he  was  like  a 
giant  refreshed  with  wine,  and  crying  to  be  up  and 
about. 

He  didn't  die  in  earnest  for  two  years  after  that, 
and  then,  up  to  his  old  games,  he  went  out  on  a  bitter 
cold  evening  to  look  at  some  pigs ;  and  the  frost  worked 
down  into  his  breathing  parts  and  he  was  gathered,  like 
a  flower  of  the  field,  in  forty-eight  hours. 

But  he  lies  to  Lanteagle  along  with  the  rest  of  us  that 
have  gone  before ;  and  a  thing  to  note  is  that  my  father, 
from  the  day  of  the  famous  catalepsy,  changed  his 
mind  about  the  Reverend  White,  so  that,  without  being 
friends  exactly,  no  man  can  say  they  are  enemies  any 
longer. 

And  that's  Avhat  I  mean  when  I  tell  you  the  greatest 
mystery  in  human  life,  so  far  as  I  can  see,  is  the  way 
in  which  different  things  bear  upon  one  another,  and 
the  strange  accidents  that  God  Almighty  will  sometimes 
employ  to  work  out  His  amazing  plans. 


THE  REED  ROND 
I 

By  the  little  reed  rond  under  the  wood  there  grew  old, 
pollarded  willows ;  and  now,  at  mid-March,  these  massy 
stumps  were  like  giants'  heads  on  which  bristled  golden 
and  horrent  hair  full  three  feet  long. 

An  old  woman  regarded  them  and  measured  the  value 
of  the  twigs.  Already  her  grandson  was  reaping  in 
the  withy  beds,  close  at  hand.  Beside  the  ancient  stood 
a  girl,  and  one  had  marked  that  contrast  of  centripetal 
and  centrifugal  in  the  expressions  of  age  and  youth. 
For  the  gammer  was  stricken,  and  life  had  drawn  her 
features  together,  even  as  rheumatism  and  other  ills 
had  contracted  her  limbs,  thrust  one  shoulder  higher 
than  the  other  and  dragged  her  withered  fingers  into 
the  palms  of  her  hands.  Brown,  gnarled,  weatliered 
and  time-foundered  was  she,  and  dim  were  her  brown 
eyes.  They,  too,  had  grown  centripetal,  and  were 
veiled  behind  the  curtain  of  the  past;  they  saw  both 
less  and  more  than  the  frank  grey  orbs  of  the  girl. 
The  younger  face  was  inquiring,  expectant,  hungry 
for  new  experiences,  full  of  life  and  the  joy  of  it.  Her 
shoulders  were  open,  her  bosom  challenging,  her  body 
ready  for  action.  The  old  had  nothing  to  give  away. 
She  hugged  her  lean  carcase,  nursed  each  footfall  and 
went  gingerly  to  cheat  pain ;  the  young  strode  light  of 

83 


84.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

limb  and  lithe  of  step,  with  pain  as  yet  a  stranger,  with 
hope  for  her  dower  and  love's  immeasurable  vista  for 
her  kingdom. 

Charity  Bickford  had  stood  up  to  life,  against  long 
odds  of  ill-fortune  and  grief  for  seventy-five  years. 
Her  romance  reads  raw  thrust  into  a  few  sentences, 
stripped  from  the  full  book  of  her  days  and  abbreviated. 
Art  is  challenged  to  round  it,  draw  the  seemly  veil, 
lower  the  light  somewhat  and  suffer  the  red  work  to  be 
done  out  of  sight.  There  was  so  much  red  work.  She 
had  moved  through  a  drama  of  heredity  and  known 
death  better  than  she  had  known  many  of  her  human 
acquaintance ;  for  it  was  her  own  who  had  died :  the 
human  weaklings  born  of  her  body  to  an  unhealthy 
mate.  Her  children  had  risen  fair  and  promised  well; 
then,  smitten  from  within  and  without,  they  had  sunk 
and  gasped  away  their  broken  lives.  Some  died  upon 
her  bosom ;  one  passed  away  far  from  her. 

When  Charity  was  nineteen  she  fell  in  love  with 
Edward  Bickford,  the  owner  of  a  little  osier  farm  and 
reed  bed  hid  in  the  lap  of  Cornish  hills.  But  she  knew 
not  that  it  was  death  that  made  her  man's  eyes  so  bright 
and  his  cheeks  so  red;  she  remembered  not  that  Bick- 
ford had  one  brother  in  a  hospital  and  a  sister  in  the 
grave. 

Six  children  were  born  to  them,  and  one  died  in 
infancy ;  then  the  father  reached  his  tether,  coughed 
for  six  months  and  bled  to  death  on  a  winter  night  in 
Charity's  arms.  She  was  thirty-eight  now  and  might 
swiftly  have  wedded  again  and  escaped  the  swamp  that 
was  her  home.        But  there  were  her  children  —  three 


THE  REED  ROND  85 

boys,  two  girls.  No  sane  man,  for  all  her  sense  and 
charm,  desired  to  burden  himself  with  the  sickly  family 
of  another's  getting.  The  eldest  son,  Tom,  a  lad  of 
eighteen,  was  her  right  hand  and  fought  to  keep  the 
roof  of  the  cottage  over  them  and  food  in  their  mouths. 
But  arundo  straw  was  ceasing  to  find  a  market  and  the 
prosperity  of  the  farm,  never  great,  began  to  wane. 

Children  of  a  phthisical  father  could  hardly  have  been 
born  into  a  worse  environment.  They  needed  abundant 
food  and  here  was  poverty ;  they  required  healthy  air 
of  the  uplands  and  the  sweet  freshness  of  the  hills ;  but 
here  the  summer  bred  miasma  and  foul  humours  of 
stagnant  water;  the  winter  was  dank  and  the  atmos- 
phere both  humid  and  chill.  Tom  Bickford  showed  the 
storm  signal  first,  though  for  a  time  the  vitality  of 
youth  made  nought  of  nightly  coughs  and  sweats.  He 
held  on  till  he  was  two-and-twenty.  Then  he  died  as 
his  father  had  died  —  with  his  head  on  Charity's  bosom. 
The  second  son  was  threatened  and  went  to  sea ;  but 
he  took  death  with  him  and  was  caried  ashore  at  Sydney 
on  his  second  voyage.  They  sent  home  his  kit  and  a 
locket  of  gun-metal  with  the  face  of  an  unknown  girl 
in  it.  Then  the  third  boy,  of  stouter  build  and  much 
like  his  mother,  worked  for  her,  and  in  his  hidden  heart 
called  himself  master  of  the  osier  farm  and  counted  to 
live  for  ever.  He  had  neither  ache  nor  pain  and  was 
cast  in  a  mightier  mould  than  his  brothers.  And  he 
was  cleverer.  He  took  warning,  went  heedfully, 
changed  his  clothes  when  he  came  in  wet  from  the  withy 
beds  and  permitted  the  threat  of  evil  to  make  him 
selfish.     Charity    ministered    to    him    day    and    night. 


86  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Her  ignorance  was  extreme ;  therefore  she  coddled  him, 
kept  him  too  warm,  denied  fresh  air  entrance  to  their 
little  home  by  the  reed  rond. 

Of  her  daughters,  Sally,  the  elder,  married  at  seven- 
teen, and  went  to  live  in  South  Devon.  Her  husband 
worked  on  the  Teign  in  the  clay  barges,  and  she  only 
exchanged  one  low-lying  cot  for  another.  When  the 
river  was  out,  mud,  starred  with  wild  asters  and  sali- 
cornia,  spread  almost  from  her  cottage  door  for  miles 
down  the  estuary ;  when  it  was  up,  the  grey  gulls 
floated  there ;  and  the  hump-backed  heron  stood  knee 
deep  so  close  that  Sally  Tutt  could  see  his  eyes.  Here 
she  bore  two  children,  a  boy  and  a  girl,  before  the  curse 
strangled  her  also.  Charity  was  with  her  when  she 
died,  and  she  and  Jacob  Tutt,  the  breaved  bargeman, 
quarrelled  as  to  whether  the  dead  should  lie  with 
Charity's  husband  and  son,  or  beside  Jacob's  mother. 
The  man  would  not  yield  and  his  wife  was  buried  where 
he  willed. 

"  Leave  room,"  said  Charity,  pointing  to  the  little 
ones.  "  Look  at  their  eyes  —  and  their  skin,  like  egg- 
shell china.      'Tis  there !     Leave  room  by  her." 

The  father  cursed  Charity  for  a  witch  of  ill  omen, 
and  indeed  she  proved  mistaken.  Her  granddaughter 
and  grandson  lived  and  survived  her. 

Her  other  daughter,  Grace,  was  eighteen  at  the  time 
of  Sally  Tutt's  death,  and  her  sister's  end  preyed  upon 
a  feeble  spirit,  haunted  her  and  shortened  her  life.  The 
folk  vowed  that  Grace  might  have  escaped,  had  she  not 
frightened  herself  into  consumption.  She  lingered  long 
and  died  in  her  sleep  at  last,  worn  to  a  shadow,  like  a 


THE  REED  ROND  87 

poplar  leaf  that  falls  in  autumn,  and  whose  transparent 
ghost  the  wind  blows  out  of  some  cranny  when  spring 
has  come  again. 

There  remained  selfish  Alfred,  and  the  reed  rond  did 
him  no  hurt.  His  health  was  good  and  his  mind  serene. 
His  mother's  own  life  was  concentrated  here  and  every 
sense  fastened  tigerislily  upon  him.  She  did  not  like 
him  out  of  her  sight.  She  got  on  his  nerves,  as  he  con- 
fessed to  friends,  and  men  called  him  "  mother's  boy  " 
at  the  public-house.  If  he  was  late,  her  anxious,  brown 
face  peeped  into  the  bar ;  on  Sundays  she  brought  him 
to  church,  on  Saturdays  she  accompanied  him  to  mar- 
ket. She  stuffed  him  and  went  hungry ;  clad  him  and 
went  cold  to  keep  his  great  limbs  warm.  He  kicked  at 
last  for  shame,  after  finding  her  primitive,  maternal 
instinct  proof  against  all  argument  and  all  reason. 
She  could  not  let  him  alone ;  therefore  he  sought  a  wife, 
to  rescue  him  from  his  mother,  and  became  betrothed  to 
a  gamekeeper's  daughter,  Avho  lived  in  the  woods  nigh 
at  hand.  The  gamekeeper  little  liked  this  match,  for 
he  was  a  prosperous  man  compared  with  Alfred  and  his 
osier  bog. 

"  Bickford's  only  customers  nowadays  be  a  handful 
of  damned  gypsies,  who  buy  half  the  withy  wands  and 
steal  t'other  half,"  said  the  gamekeeper  to  his  girl. 
"  Why  do  'e  want  to  marry  a  pauper  —  and  hag-ridden 
at  that,  for  his  mother  won't  let  the  man  out  of  her 
sight,  wife  or  no  wife?  " 

"  I  love  him,"  answered  she.  "  And  we're  tokened, 
and  the  old  woman  will  very  soon  pack  her  sticks  and 
clear  once  I  reign  over  him." 


88  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TLD 

But  the  marriage  did  not  take  place.  The  death  this 
hale  and  hearty  man  had  defied  at  one  gate  of  the 
fortress,  found  entrance  by  another,  beyond  his  power 
to  bar.  He  met  with  an  accident  and  badly  bruised  his 
back  by  falling  off  a  slippery  board  on  to  a  stump  in 
the  reed  rond.  He  laughed  at  first;  but  in  a  few 
months  it  was  broken  to  Charity  that  tuberculosis  of 
the  spine  had  overtaken  her  son.  His  engagement  was 
broken  off,  and  the  mother  he  had  tried  to  escape  re- 
tained her  power  over  him,  for  he  was  a  cripple  hence- 
forth. Sometimes  he  flattered  hope,  rose  from  his  bed 
and  appeared  stronger.      But  presently  he  died. 

Charity  was  light-headed  for  a  year  and  had  to  be 
put  into  an  asylum.  She  used  to  cry  out  over  the  wall 
of  the  recreation  ground,  and  passers-by  would  hear  a 
pleasant  voice  calling  to  them,  "  Look  at  me  —  me 
that's  bred  food  for  six  graves  —  six  graves  I've 
filled !  " 

Then  gazing  up  they  would  see  a  fine,  brown  woman 
of  five  and  fifty  beaming  and  nodding  to  them. 

She  recovered  and  returned  to  the  osiers.  A  man 
worked  for  her  who  had  worked  for  her  husband  and  her 
sons.  He  was  called  Philip  jNIasterman  and  understood 
the  reeds  and  withies.  But  the  arundo  proved  not 
worth  cutting  and  stacking  nowadays,  for  none  wanted 
it  and  thatching  ceased  to  be  practised  in  that  dis- 
trict. 

Next  there  came  a  ray  of  brightness  and  something 
to  love  again,  for  the  bargeman,  Jacob  Tutt,  was 
married  once  more,  and  having  two  other  cliildren  and  a 
masterful  wife,  desired  to  be  free  of  the  son  by  his  first. 


THE  REED  ROND  89 

Mrs.  Bickford  welcomed  the  boy,  fanned  dead  fires  and 
found  a  little  bleak  sunshine  in  the  joy  of  ministering 
to  him.  When  he  had  done  with  school,  he  set  to  work 
at  the  osiers,  learned  all  there  was  to  learn  and  exulted 
in  secret,  as  his  dead  uncle  before  him,  that  the 
marsh  and  willows  and  reed  bed,  where  the  coots  and 
moorhens  nested,  would  presently  be  his  own. 

The  place  was  Charity's,  and  she  strove  year  after 
year  to  be  rid  of  it ;  but  no  purchaser  could  be  found, 
because  it  was  almost  worthless  as  it  stood  and  to  drain 
it  had  proved  too  costly.  Therefore  she  stopped  on, 
since  the  workhouse  was  her  only  alternative. 

Young  Jacob  Tutt  grew  and  prospered.  Then  there 
woke  within  him  love,  and  he  won  Melinda  Deane,  a 
pedlar's  daughter  from  St.  Tid  —  she  who  now  walked 
beside  Charity,  gave  her  an  ann  over  a  bridge  in  the 
osier  beds  and  came  presently  beside  her  to  the  old 
woman's  cottage. 

The  dwelling-house  stood  lifted  a  little  higher  than 
the  marshes,  with  a  cabbage  patch  of  half  an  acre  behind 
it  and  the  fens  in  front.  Beyond  the  cabbages  there 
spread  great  woods,  and  the  foxes  harboured  within, 
where  a  quarry  opened,  so  that  Cliarity's  poultry  was 
snugly  caged  by  night. 

"  Jacob's  down  in  the  reeds  to  work,  I  reckon.  But 
he  knows  you  be  coming,  so  he'll  be  punctual,"  said  Mrs. 
Bickford. 

Her  voice  was  mellow  and  pleasant  still. 

"  Did  you  fetch  the  charm  for  my  face  from  your 
father,  Melindy.?  " 

"  So  I  did,  mother,"  answered  the  girl.     "  He  says 


90  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

there  be  nine  sorts  of  erysapalis  but  the  same  charm 
will  cure  'em  all." 

"  A  proper  herb-doctor  he  is." 

*'  He  does  his  share ;  but  the  patients  have  got  to  do 
their  share  too,  and  father  says  there's  not  a  herb  of 
the  field  be  proof  against  want  of  faith.  If  you  don't 
believe  in  'em,  they  be  powerless  to  pleasure  you,  or 
touch  the  ill.  '  Faith  have  got  to  go  along  with  physic  ' 
—  that's  what  father  says." 

*'  He's  a  very  clever  man,  and  I  believe  in  him," 
declared  Charity.  "  He  knows  the  vartues  in  many  a 
weed  we  tread  under  our  feet." 

"  But  this  is  different.  'Tis  a  very  old  charm  and 
plenty  don't  believe  in  it,  though  father  says  it  never 
fails  when  you  come  to  it  trusting." 

Melinda  considered  and  frowned,  a  process  that 
helped  her  wits. 

"  I've  got  it !  'Tis  like  this,  mother,  and  all  the 
things  are  easily  to  be  had.  You  must  take  milk  from 
a  red  cow  and  a  fleck  of  wool  from  a  black  sheep  — 
from  under  his  left  ear  the  wool  must  come.  Then  you 
dab  the  wool  in  the  milk,  and  dress  your  erysapalis  with 
it,  and  say  a  prayer.  Here's  the  words.  Father  wrote 
'em  for  you.  'Twas  a  moorman  he  got  the  charm  from, 
and  you  mustn't  give  him  nothing  but  thanks  for  it,  else 
it  won't  work." 

Charity,  whose  brown  face  was  smeared  with  a  red 
patch  of  erysipelas,  took  the  paper  thankfully. 

"  God  knows  if  there's  one  thing  life  haven't  filched 
away  from  me,  Melindy,  'tis  faith,"  she  said.  "  I've 
had  the  faith  to  move  mountains,  and  please  God  if  'tis 


II 


THE  REED  ROND  91 

ever  allowed  me,  in  another  world  than  this,  to  compare 
my  life  with  that  tortured  man,  Job,  He'll  find  that 
there  wasn't  overmuch  to  choose  between  me  and  him. 
Ess  fay !  my  case  was  worse  than  his,  for  what  the  Lord 
took  from  Job,  He  gave  again  while  yet  the  man  was  in 
the  flesh.  But  that  can't  hap  to  me,  because  I'm  old, 
and  miracles  aren't  worked  in  our  time.  The  general 
public  haven't  got  the  faith  for  'em.  No,  I  shall  see  my 
family  again,  as  sure  as  I  see  you  this  minute ;  but  the 
tender  joys  of  the  body  will  be  over  and  done  with, 
worse  luck.  For  I  won't  pretend  I  ban't  sorry.  There 
may  be  comforts  that  go  along  with  being  a  shining 
spirit ;  but  I  shan't  hug  my  boys  and  girls  in  my  arms, 
and  feel  the  flesh  of  them  firm  and  healthy,  and  press 
my  lips  to  their  cheeks.  I  shan't  do  nothing  like  that. 
I  shall  never  even  be  able  to  see  'em  eat.  For  us  shall 
all  be  spirits  together." 

Melinda  was  puzzled  by  these  reflections. 

"  Lord,  mother !  "  she  said,  "  what  a  terrible  queer 
way  to  look  at  it !  " 

"  It  may  be  my  dear,  but  you  can't  look  at  it  no 
other  way,"  answered  Charity.  "  Spirits  be  spirits, 
and  no  doubt  they  gain  more  than  they  lose,  poor  crea- 
tures, and  be  helped  to  forget  the  fine  blessings  of  flesh 
and  bones,  as  well  as  the  horrors  of  'em." 

Then  came  Jacob  Tutt,  a  hearty  young  man,  brawny 
and  well  put  together.  He  was  blue-eyed,  curly-headed, 
full-lipped,  and  he  looked  far  less  than  his  five-and- 
twenty  years. 

"  I've  catched  a  proper  fish !  "  he  said,  and  showed 
them  a  great  dace  of  half  a  pound  weight. 


92  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Charity  clapped  her  old  hands. 

"  Well  done,  Jacob !  Now  we  shall  have  a  brave  din- 
ner for  Melindj." 

He  handed  the  fish  to  his  grandmother,  and  she,  tell- 
ing them  that  the  meal  would  be  ready  in  half  an  hour, 
went  within  to  prepare  it.  But  Jacob  and  his  sweet- 
heart dawdled  by  the  water.  They  sat  down  on  a 
withy  bundle  presently,  and  he  put  liis  arm  round  her 
and  rubbed  his  face  against  hers.  She  fondled  his  hand 
and  picked  the  silver  scales  of  the  dace  off  it.  Then  she 
kissed  it.  They  were  both  amorous,  and  presently  he 
rose,  yawned,  stretched  his  arms  over  his  head,  and 
looked  down  at  her  with  a  mouth  that  watered. 

"  'Tis  wisht  work  waiting  for  'e,"  he  said ;  "  but  so 
far  as  I  can  see,  it's  got  to  be,  till  granny  drops.  And 
tough  as  leather  she  is  —  good  for  ten  year  unless  we 
have  a  bit  of  luck." 

"  Why  must  you  wait  for  her.''  " 

"  Because  it  is  just  all  we  can  do  to  keep  food  in  our 
mouths  and  clothes  on  our  backs  and  scrape  up  fifteen 
bob  a  week  for  Phil  INIasterman.  I've  looked  round  on 
the  quiet  to  see  if  I  could  find  a  man  as  would  do  his 
work  for  less ;  but  I  can't." 

"  Offer  him  a  thought  less.  He's  only  got  his  wife, 
and  his  cottage  be  rent  free." 

"  Granny  won't  offer  him  less  —  for  two  pins  she'd 
give  him  more.  She's  a  bit  tootlish  over  money  —  al- 
ways was.  Them  at  the  end  of  their  tether  can't  feel 
for  the  like  of  us." 

"  I  wish  to  Christ  I'd  got  a  bit  of  money,"  said 
Melinda ;  "  but  you  know  how  'tis  with  us." 


THE  REED  ROND  93 

"  Sometimes  I  think  I  will  up  and  away." 

"  You  can't  leave  her." 

"  I  could  leave  her  all  right ;  but  the  withy  beds  are 
just  worth  waiting  for,  and  it's  all  I  shall  ever  get  in 
the  world.     There'll  be  nothing  out  of  father." 

"  Then  we  must  wait.  Of  course  she  don't  guess 
she's  standing  in  the  way." 

"  Not  her." 

"  'Tis  certain  we  can't  tell  her,  so  fond  of  you  as 
she  is." 

"  She's  got  no  sense  —  all  knocked  out  of  her  by 
trouble  I  reckon.  She's  on  to  me  to  marry  again  and 
again,  and  it  often  takes  me  all  my  time  not  to  slap  out 
the  reason." 

"  Have  she  got  anything  put  by .''  " 

"  Yes  —  for  her  funeral.  So  she  says,  but  I  reckon 
there's  a  tidy  little  bit  been  goodying  for  twenty  year. 
She's  close  and  never  talks  about  it.  Her  grave's 
bought  years  and  years  ago,  alongside  her  other  graves. 
Her  little  lot  all  dropped  pretty  young,  and  none  had 
no  children  but  my  mother." 

Melinda  reflected,  but  saw  no  light. 

"  I'm  that  useless,"  she  said.  "  If  I'd  gone  in  service, 
I  might  have  saved  a  few  pounds,  but  father  won't  let 
me  leave  him  till  I  marry." 

"  Did  he  send  that  charm  for  the  old  woman .''  " 

"  I've  gived  it  to  her." 

"  I  wouldn't  wish  her  dead,"  said  Jacob,  "  for  she's 
all  right,  and  I  reckon  she's  having  the  time  of  her  life, 
poor  old  baggage.  She  wearies  me  with  tales  of  her 
husband  and  children,  and  can  remember  to  a  pang  how 


94.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

each  of  'em  died,  and  to  a  wliisper  the  last  word  each 
of  'em  said.  She  maunders  over  it  by  the  hour.  Yet 
they'll  slip  her  memory  for  ten  minutes  at  a  time,  and  I 
can  even  make  her  laugh  off  and  on.  And  for  the 
moment  you'm  laughing,  you'm  happy.  So  I  wouldn't 
wish  her  dead,  Melindy,  though  'twill  be  a  red-letter 
day  —  a  proper  revel  for  me  and  you  when  it  hap- 
pens." 

"  I  wish  there  was  another  way  than  her  going,"  said 
the  girl.  "  'Tis  like  four  carrion  crows  I  seed  a  bit 
ago.  They  was  waiting  for  an  old  boss  to  die  in  a  field, 
and  walking  round  and  round  him  to  have  the  first  dig 
at  his  eyes." 

Charity's  voice  quavered  out  from  the  house  door 
and  they  went  in. 

They  ate  the  great  dace  and  some  bacon  and  potatoes, 
some  bread  and  cheese,  and  a  tapioca  pudding.  It  was 
a  meal  unusually  ample.  The  women  drank  tea  and 
Jacob  drank  water.  Then  Melinda  helped  Mrs.  Bick- 
ford  to  wash  up,  and  the  man  lighted  his  pipe  and 
returned  to  work. 

In  the  evening,  over  a  meal  of  bread  and  pork 
dripping,  Charity,  grown  cheerful,  pleaded  with  them 
to  wed. 

"  'Tis  the  last  wish  of  my  life  to  see  a  great  grand- 
child in  my  lap,"  she  said.  "  'Tisn't  as  if  you  couldn't 
do  with  me  in  the  house,  Melindy,  for  well  you  know  we 
understand  each  other  cruel  close,  and  we've  unfolded 
our  feelings,  so  we  should  never  have  no  difference. 
You'd  be  missis,  and  I'd  sit  in  the  chimney-corner 
and " 


THE  REED  ROND  96 

Her  grandson  cut  her  short. 

"  That  won*t  do,  my  old  dear,"  he  said.  "  You  ban't 
the  lazy,  bed-lying  sort.  You'll  hop  about,  so  spry  as 
a  frog  and  busy  as  a  mouse,  for  ten  year  yet,  for  all 
your  rheumatics.  And  three  into  two  won't  go,  so  all's 
said.     It  can't  be." 

Melinda  listened  for  the  answer  with  her  mouth  open. 
If  Mrs.  Bickford  really  desired  her  to  wed  Jacob  and 
share  this  home,  and  if,  as  her  lover  suspected,  she  had 
money  saved,  now  surely  was  the  time  to  hint  at  it. 
But  her  grandson's  blunt  summary  of  the  situation 
seemed  to  strike  Charity  into  silence.  Her  smiles  per- 
ished, her  animation  departed,  her  customary  centrip- 
etal attitude  overtook  her,  and  she  shrank.  She  was 
like  a  snail,  who,  while  making  unexampled  progress,  is 
suddenly  touched  upon  the  horns.  A  strange  expres- 
sion crossed  her  face,  which  showed  that  she  perfectly 
understood  Jacob.  Then  she  grew  listless,  stretched 
out  her  hand  for  a  piece  of  watercress  from  the  table, 
bent  her  head  over  it,  chewed  it  and  mumbled  something 
to  herself  which  they  could  not  hear. 

Jacob,  rather  alarmed  at  his  own  plain  speaking, 
strove  to  cheer  her!  but  she  would  not  be  cheered,  and 
presently  the  young  man  and  maiden  left  her.  The  girl 
kissed  Charity  on  both  cheeks  and  thanked  her  for  a 
happy  day ;  but  the  old  woman  only  nodded  and  said 
she  had  been  welcome. 

"  You  touched  her  up,"  said  Melinda  to  her  lover 
presently,  as  he  saw  her  home. 

"  I  hardly  thought  that  she  was  so  quick-witted," 
he   answered.      "  The   old  bird  saw  what  I   meant   all 


96  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

right,  and  I'm  not  sorry  now  I  said  it,  because  'twill 
keep  her  from  always  twittering  about  us  getting  mar- 
ried. If  she  wants  to  see  a  great  grandcliild,  she  must 
pay  for  the  fun  and  dip  in  her  money-bag  and  give 
me  another  half-crown  a  week  —  then  we  can  go 
ahead." 

"  'Tis  only  your  notion  that  she's  got  a  money-bag, 
however.''  " 

"  I  grant  that.      She  may  have  nought." 

Next  day  Charity  was  still  in  a  sombre  mood  and 
Jacob  strove  hard  to  cheer  her.  He  procured  milk 
from  a  red  cow  and  a  lock  of  wool  from  under  a  black 
sheep's  left  ear  wherewith  to  apply  it. 

Her  interest  in  the  charm,  however,  waned,  and  she 
only  attempted  the  application  on  two  occasions. 

"  Let  it  bide,"  she  said,  when  Jacob  begged  her  to 
give  the  cure  a  chance.  "  'Tis  no  use  now  —  my  faith 
have  gone  weak." 

II 

An  unfamiliar  melancholy  stole  over  Charity  Bick- 
ford  from  the  day  in  spring  when  Jacob  caught  the  big 
dace  and  Melinda  came  to  dinner. 

The  lovers  could  not  fail  to  mark  it,  and  the  girl 
feared  that  the  old  woman  must  have  taken  her 
grandson's  jest  to  heart;  but  this  he  refused  to 
believe. 

"  If  I  thought  that,  I'd  be  so  dow^n  in  the  mouth  as 
her,"  he  said.  "  No,  'tis  only  old  age  and  aches  and 
sleepless  nights.  She's  a  poor,  old  go-by-the-ground 
now;  but  she  won't  drop  none  the  quicker  for  my  fun. 


THE  REED  ROND  97 

Come  summer  she'll  buck  up.  And  even  if  I  hurt  her, 
she'll  soon  forget  it.  Her  memory's  like  a  sieve  these 
days." 

But  Charity  did  not  find  the  summer  bring  anodyne. 
The  reply  to  her  pleading  that  Jacob  should  take 
Melinda  had  fallen  with  crushing  weight  and  left  a 
bruise.  It  was  the  more  painful  because  spoken  in  jest, 
the  more  pregnant  because  Jacob  never  dreamed  of 
attaching  any  significance  to  it.  He  did  not  wish  her 
away ;  she  clung  to  that  conviction ;  but  he  made  it 
clear  that  until  she  was  away  no  wife  would  come  to  his 
arms.  The  hope  of  a  great  grandchild  went  out  and 
left  her  spirit  dark.  It  had  been  a  rare  ambition  and 
served  to  brighten  her  days  and  dreams. 

She  reluctantly  abandoned  the  thought  of  Melinda 
at  the  osier  farm.  On  reflection  she  perceived  how 
impossible  it  must  be,  for  the  pedlar  could  give  his 
daughter  no  dowry  and  Charity's  own  savings,  con- 
cerning which  Jacob  had  speculated,  did  not  exist. 
Ten  pounds  was  locked  up  in  her  desk  for  her  burial, 
and  that  was  all  she  owned. 

They  lived  from  hand  to  mouth.  She  had  done  so 
all  her  life  and  knew  no  security ;  the  chronic  state  of 
the  poor.  Only  today  are  they  awakening  to  the 
unreason  and  impropriety  of  that  state,  only  today  do 
they  demand  to  rise  above  the  level  of  the  bird,  the  fish, 
and  all  wild  creatures  that  depend  on  health  for  exist- 
ence. She  brooded  and  walked  by  the  summer  waters 
and  moved  through  the  margins  of  the  wood.  She 
would  pick  up  sticks  there,  and  creep  about  among  the 
trees  until  she  had  collected  a  burden. 


98  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

But  her  heart  grew  heavier  and  the  visits  of  Melinda 
woke  no  happiness  in  her  eyes  as  of  yore.  She  was  no 
longer  glad  to  kiss  her  and  touch  her  young  lips  with 
her  old  ones.  Physically  Mrs.  Bickford  herself  grew 
stronger  as  the  summer  advanced;  her  rheumatism 
relented,  the  erysipelas  quite  disappeared.  In  some 
moods  she  regretted  this  increase  of  health,  for  it  made 
her  thoughts  more  difficult.  There  was  growing  an 
ugly  phantom  beside  her,  and  it  would  not  depart.  It 
fretted  her  nerves,  angered  her  and  tortured  her.  For 
it  was  cruel  and  unjust.  What  had  she  done  through 
all  her  suffering  years  to  be  troubled  thus.''  What 
crime  had  she  committed  to  find  this  hideous  shadow 
of  the  mind  growing  daily,  gripping  at  her  moral  sense 
and  sapping  her  faith  like  a  spiritual  cancer?  She 
defied  it  and  fell  back  upon  religion ;  but  that  failed  her, 
for  although  a  woman  of  great  faith,  as  she  truly  de- 
clared to  Melinda,  the  staple  of  her  beliefs  was  not  knit 
very  closely  into  any  controlling  creed. 

She  had  often  criticized  Heaven  in  her  heart  and  had 
come  to  the  conclusion  that,  for  her,  the  hereafter  niust 
indeed  be  gorgeous  if  common  justice  were  to  be  done. 

She  marvelled  now,  when  the  shadow  beckoned,  that 
there  should  be  any  reluctance  and  annoyance  on  her 
part  to  follow  it.  Death  had  been  regarded  by  her  as 
a  release  for  so  long  that  the  idea  had  dwindled  to  a 
commonplace.  Yet,  now  that  she  examined  it,  in  the 
light  of  this  agitation,  she  found  despite  her  age,  her 
infirmities,  her  slight  hold  on  life,  that  death  had 
changed  his  aspect  and  offered  no  immediate  attraction. 
When  her  death  mattered  to  none,  she  longed  for  it; 


THE  REED  ROND  99 

now  that  it  did  matter  to  this  boy  and  girl,  she  resented 
any  serious  consideration  of  it.  That  her  Hfe  should 
possess  a  sort  of  consequence  for  the  living  had  aston- 
ished her  a  great  deal,  for  she  had  long  felt  that  it  was 
useless,  save  for  the  temporary  convenience  of  her 
grandson ;  but  now  her  eyes  were  opened  and  she  per- 
ceived that  even  this  poor  fag  end  of  days,  not  wholly 
unhappy,  with  old,  wild  griefs  softened  to  a  memory, 
might  be  enjoyed  in  ease  no  more.  She  had  sunk  to  a 
state  of  contentment  —  Heaven  drawing  daily  nearer 
and  the  great  meeting  drifting  gently  closer  —  and  she 
loved  to  picture  that  meeting  and  imagine  the  order  of 
her  precious  spirits  as  they  advanced  on  the  threshold 
to  hail  her  —  husband,  daughters  and  sons.  But  the 
waiting  time  had  come  to  be  actually  pleasant.  The 
interest  awakened  by  Jacob  was  keen  and  the  hope 
great,  that  this  last  scion  of  her  own  blood,  having 
escaped  the  curse,  would  build  on  sure  foundations  and 
create  another  generation  wliile  she  was  yet  beside  him 
to  take  joy  therein. 

Now  it  was  made  clear  that  standing  between  him  and 
his  love,  she  blocked  his  work  of  husband  and  father. 
The  suspicion  grew  to  certainty  and  pricked  her  into 
fretfulness  and  bad  temper.  Jacob  was  not  always 
patient,  and  sometimes  she  wept.  She  puzzled  to  know 
why  life  could  still  be  good  to  her  under  these  circum- 
stances. She  grew  careless  of  it  and  ate  things  that 
were  not  M'holesome  for  her  and  got  wet  and  neglected 
her  health.  But  these  accidents  left  no  mark.  The 
shadow  only  laughed  at  her  for  her  pains. 

She  heaped  secret  contempt  on  Heaven  for  plaguing 


100  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TLD 

her  last  days  with  such  cruelty.  To  bully  a  woman  in 
sight  of  eighty  seemed  poor  fun  for  Omnipotence ;  and 
yet  it  was  no  new  thing.  Had  not  the  Supreme  Being 
bullied  her  all  her  life.'* 

She  asked  Philip  Masteraian  this  question,  when  they 
met  in  the  osier  beds  on  an  autumn  day. 

"Hasn't  he,  Philip.''  Have  He  ever  gived  me  an 
hour's  peace.''  And  haven't  I  took  it  patient  and 
always  bowed  afore  the  blast.''  " 

"  No  doubt.  So  do  we  all,"  said  Mr.  Masterman. 
"  For  why?  We  can't  do  nothing  else.  Humans  can't 
kick  against  the  pricks  of  God.  The  wounds  got  that 
way  fester  and  never  heal  no  more.  We  must  bend  to 
Him  and  be  thankful  we're  built  to  bend." 

Philip,  a  bald,  old  man,  humped  in  the  shoulders, 
could  never  speak  without  accompaniment  of  action. 
He  had  to  be  using  his  feet,  or  hands,  and  if  not  at  work, 
made  physical  movement.  Now  he  chopped  with  a  bill 
hook  till  the  white  splinters  flew. 

"  'Tis  only  the  hard  go  down,"  he  said.  "  If  I  whip 
these  twigs  with  my  hook,  they  take  no  hurt,  because 
they  give  afore  it  and  I  lose  my  labour;  but  if  I  let  go 
on  the  hard  wood,  then  the  hook  bites  and  tlie  timber 
falls.  What  I  say  is,  God  don't  bite  Avorth  a  damn,  if 
you  throw  up  the  sponge  and  take  it  lying  down.  For 
my  part  I  yowl  out  long  afore  I'm  hit,  like  a  dog  do, 
when  I  see  God  coming;  and  I've  often  been  let  off  with 
a  fright  just  for  that  reason.  'Tis  a  tip  worth  giving 
a  man,  but  I  never  heard  no  parson  name  it." 

He  lashed  away  and  opened  up  a  thicket  above  a 
watercourse. 


THE  REED  ROND  101 

"  The  brambles  be  growed  here  more'n  I  thought," 
he  said. 

She  was  in  a  mind  to  tell  him  of  her  trouble. 

"  It  have  come  over  me  of  late  a  bit  sharp  that  my 
boy  and  his  girl  won't  be  able  to  wed  till  I'm  gone, 
Philip." 

He  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

"That's  cause  and  effect.  Charity  Bickford.  It's 
always  going  on,  though  we  don't  always  see  it  working 
—  lucky  for  us." 

"  And  I  wish  I  hadn't  seen  it  working,  for  it's  a  deep 
trouble  to  me." 

He  considered. 

"  You  can't  help  it.  It  falls  out  so.  There's  not 
enough  for  another  here.  'Tisn't  like  it  was  when  you 
wedded,  five-and-fifty  years  agone.  The  world  wanted 
grass  for  its  thatches.  But  reeds  be  no  more  account 
than  rexens  ^  nowadays,  and  even  the  withies  don't  fetch 
what  they  did." 

"  'Twill  all  be  Jacob's  when  I'm  gone." 

"  A  pity  you  told  him,  however.  With  the  best  feel- 
ings in  the  world,  a  chap  can't  forget  a  thing  like  that. 
It  fouls  his  mind  a  bit  —  'tis  nature.  However,  you 
never  was  so  spry  and  peart.  I  haven't  seen  j'ou  go  so 
light  on  your  feet  for  five  year.  So  no  decent  mind 
have  any  right  to  look  forward  to  what  will  happen. 
These  things  ain't  in  our  hands  —  or  shouldn't  be." 

Mrs.  Bickford  felt  a  little  comforted  by  the  reflection. 
She  determined  to  be  more  Christian  in  future  and  go  to 
church  sometimes. 

1  Rushes. 


102  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Autumn  was  on  the  reed  rond  and  the  birches  misted 
gold  over  their  silver ;  the  leaves  fell  into  the  water ;  the 
cherry  shed  her  scarlet,  and  it  dropped,  red  as 
blood,  where  the  wild  ducks  cackled  after  sunset  and 
the  woodcock  returned  very  weary  from  the  secret  way 
of  his  long  flight.  The  willow  foliage  still  clung  thinly 
on  the  golden  wands  of  the  withies  and  made  a  flash  of 
fire  against  the  purple  background  of  the  woods.  Fogs 
of  autumn  rose  by  night  and  crept  lazily  over  the  water. 
The  fungus  folk  were  afoot  again  and  their  cowls 
and  canopies  —  purple  and  scarlet,  olive  and  am- 
ber —  studded  the  denes  and  dingles  with  many  a  lit- 
tle lodge  and  wigwam,  like  the  encampments  of  gipsy 
fairies. 

Charity  stood  and  looked  over  the  water.  The 
leaves  fluttered  around  her  and  a  cock  pheasant  rock- 
eted and  soared  over  the  tree  tops.  At  her  feet  a  little 
vole  sat  up  and  nibbled  a  sedge.  There  were  dab  chicks 
diving  at  the  edge  of  the  arundo  canes.  The  plumes  of 
the  reed,  that  had  shone  wine-purple  at  liigh  summer, 
were  fading  away.  The  brake  was  singing  to  the  sere 
and  would  soon  be  beaten  down  over  the  empty  nests  of 
the  moorhens  within  it. 

A  robin  sang  to  Charity  —  a  little  under-song,  as  it 
seemed,  for  her  ear  alone. 

Then  came  Jacob,  cheerful  and  jolly.  He  carried  a 
gun  and  a  dead  woodpigeon. 

"  His  craw  be  full  of  acorns,"  he  said;  "  but  he's  fat 
—  there's  fine  eating  on  him.  I  know  you  doat  on  a 
woodpigeon,  my  old  dear." 


THE  REED  ROND  103 


III 


Through  the  winter  and  the  sad,  short  days  that 
promised  nothing,  the  old  woman  hved  on  still  dom- 
inated by  a  conviction  that  she  lagged  selfishly ;  that  in 
her  grandson's  hidden  heart  there  surely  burned  re- 
sentful fires  at  her  delay.  She  grew  nervous  and  almost 
afraid  to  meet  him.  She  felt  that  each  morning,  when 
she  descended  to  get  him  his  breakfast,  an  apology  was 
due  from  her  for  still  being  alive  and  hearty.  Church- 
going  failed  to  calm  her  and  she  abandoned  it. 

But  she  lived  and  weathered  the  winter  well,  and 
perceived  that  no  link  was  loosened,  no  warning  sign 
visible  to  indicate  that  the  terminus  was  in  sight.  For 
reasons  that  psychology  conceals,  the  darkness  and 
gloom  of  winter  left  Charity  stuborn,  unmoved,  a  will 
to  live  still  quick  within  her.  The  familiar  phenomena 
crawled  past  in  slow  procession,  but  it  was  not  until 
the  sun  climbed  again  and  the  bud  swelled  that  the 
lowest  notes  of  her  ancient  heart  sounded  and  the  now 
familiar  shadow  began  to  conquer.  She  knew  that 
spring  works  with  blood  as  well  as  sap,  and  felt  that  in 
the  mating  world  none  panted  for  a  partner  worse  than 
Jacob  and  Melinda.  Therefore  spring  smote  her  like 
an  arrow,  and  then  the  shadow  grew  into  a  cruel,  unre- 
sisting tyrant  to  be  resisted  no  longer. 

She  sought  pretexts  and  excuses  for  delay  and 
welcomed  the  least  of  them.  Jacob  had  an  attack  of 
bronchitis  and  she  nursed  him  through  it ;  a  clutch  of 
eggs  were  hatched  out  and  the  chickens  required  tend- 
ing.    There  were  letters  to  write  about  the  withies,  for 


104.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

her  grandson  was  a  poor  penman.  But  these  and  other 
chores  all  came  to  an  end  in  May.  Then  she  met  Me- 
linda  moping,  and  the  girl,  rendered  selfish  by  her  own 
unfinished  love,  confessed  with  tears  that  it  was  hard  to 
wait  for  Jacob. 

"  He's  just  told  me  what  the  withies  be  going  to  fetch, 
and  it  has  cast  me  down  a  good  bit,"  confessed  the 
maiden. 

Her  struggle  went  on  for  another  week,  and  then 
Charity  yielded  and  began  to  tliink  of  a  way.  There 
was  only  one  necessity  to  consider.  The  event  must 
appear  to  come  as  a  mishap,  not  by  deliberate  inten- 
tion. She  cast  about  for  a  means.  Then  Jacob 
warned  her  of  a  danger  in  the  withy  beds,  and  his  uncon- 
scious speech  affirmed  her  purpose,  for  she  argued  that 
Providence  had  thus  planned  to  point  a  road  over  the 
last  difficulty.  Providence  bullied  her  to  the  end  and 
left  her  in  no  doubt  of  its  direction.  She  resented  her 
fate,  but  accepted  it. 

On  a  day  in  early  May  she  rose  with  dawn,  walked 
out  through  the  gates  of  the  morning  and  examined  the 
world  curiously  —  her  mind  for  a  moment  innocent  of 
its  purpose.  She  was  glad  that  the  day  broke  fine  and 
that  the  birds  were  singing.  She  listened  for  the  reed 
warbler,  whose  note  her  husband  had  taught  her  five- 
and-fifty  years  ago.  The  warblers  grew  old  and  died 
doubtless,  as  all  living  things,  but  their  song  awoke 
punctually  with  budbreak  and  was  eternal.  It  thrilled 
out  now  from  the  mazes  of  the  reed  rond ;  and  above, 
the  blackbird  throbbed  his  music  from  the  larch. 

The  ash  has  shaken  out  grape-purple  inflorescence; 


THE  REED  ROND  105 

the  lemon  catkins  were  on  the  oak ;  the  elms  had 
thickened  with  a  million  flowers  to  hide  the  nest  of  the 
storm  thrush;  but  they  were  gone  and  young  green 
leaves  now  hid  the  ramage  of  the  boughs.  Beneath,  the 
first  bluebells  began  to  weave  Demeter's  own  veil 
through  the  underwood,  and  in  the  waters  of  the  lee  a 
pride  of  mary-buds  flashed  and  reflected  their  gold. 
The  sallow  folk  —  osiers  and  willows  —  shone  with  sil- 
ver tassels  and  the  young  green  of  the  reed  beds  speared 
strong  over  the  wreckage  of  last  3'ear.  She  heard  the 
warning  cry  of  the  moorhen,  and  saw  the  water  streaked 
with  light,  where  the  black  coots  swam  to  cover  at  her 
approach. 

The  maiden  birches  held  her  sight  a  moment,  for  the 
emerald  flowed  again  over  their  purple  branches  and 
about  the  shining  whiteness  of  their  trunks. 

Then  she  came  to  the  place  of  her  passing,  and  looked 
into  the  deep  water  here,  and  saw  a  fish  speed  away, 
frightened  at  her  shadow.  A  plank  spanned  the  water, 
and  the  plank  was  rotten.  Her  grandson  had  warned 
her  against  it.  The  water  wound  away  in  deep,  oily 
eddies  touched  with  light ;  and  sometimes  a  submerged 
grass,  answering  to  the  current,  flung  up  a  long,  green 
lock  from  the  depths.  It  would  spread  shimmering 
through  the  crystal,  then  sink  again. 

Fifty  yards  away,  at  the  edge  of  the  bluebells,  Pliilip 
Masterman  worked  about  a  woodstack.  He  marked 
Charity,  supposed  that  she  was  out  thus  early  for 
watercress,  and,  not  seeking  speech  with  her,  hid  behind 
the  stack  until  she  should  be  gone.  Presently  he  heard 
a  noise  and  peeped  out.     She  had  dragged  up  the  rotten 


106  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

plank  from  the  water-crossing  and,  using  her  strength, 
had  struck  it  hard  upon  the  ground  and  broken  it  in 
half.  Wondering  what  this  might  mean,  Philip 
watched  with  his  mouth  open.  Then  he  shut  it  and 
started  violently,  for  the  unexpected  happened. 

He  saw  the  old  woman  throw  both  pieces  of  the 
broken  board  into  the  water,  and  then  she  opened  her 
arms  and  sank  forward.  There  was  no  splash:  she 
seemed  to  settle  upon  the  stream  lightly  as  a  withered 
leaf.  He  saw  a  swirl  and  a  sharp  ripple  that  opened 
out  in  wavelets  and  just  touched  the  bank.  Once  the 
old  gladiator's  hand  came  up  and  seemed  to  appeal  to 
the  audience  in  the  blue  sky  above  her,  then  the  current 
swept  all  smooth  again  and  ran  peacefully  on.  The 
broken  board  floated  out  upon  the  water  and  one  frag- 
ment was  brought  up  against  a  knot  of  kingcups  that 
made  an  islet  there  ;  the  other  piece  drifted  forward.  A 
small  black  thing  also  rose  to  the  surface  and  followed 
the  stream.  But  it  was  waterlogged  and  made  poor 
progress.  The  staring  man  knew  it  for  Charity's  bon- 
net. In  the  silence  the  birds  shouted  their  songs. 
Philip  ran  forward;  then  he  drew  up,  thirty  yards 
from  the  water;  and  then  he  turned  back  to  the  wood- 
stack. 

He  drew  a  stick  out  of  the  stack  and  beat  the  earth 
with  it  fiercely.  It  was  a  safety  valve  to  ease  him  of 
emotion.  He  swore  and  cursed  and  hammered  the 
bluebells  and  wild  garlic.  He  addressed  his  hand  —  a 
habit,  for  he  often  spoke  to  himself  when  alone,  and  at 
such  times  lifted  his  right  hand  and  directed  his  speech 
at  it. 


THE  REED  ROND  107 

"  I've  minded  my  own  business  for  sixty  years,"  he 
said  angrily,  "  and  I'll  go  on  doing  it.  She  wanted 
for  to  clear  out,  and  who  be  going  to  blame  the  poor 
old  toad  for  going?  " 

He  went  home  to  liis  breakfast  presently,  and  when 
Jacob  Tutt  hastened  over,  an  hour  later,  to  know  if  the 
Mastermans  had  seen  his  grandmother,  Philip  answered 
that  he  had  not. 

"  I'm  terribly  feared  for  her,  for  there's  a  bridge 
broke  down,  and  she's  nowheres  about.  I  warned  her 
against  it,  so  'tis  no  fault  of  mine  if  the  worst  has  hap- 
pened." 

"  I've  got  a  new  plank  ready  for  that  matter.  I 
knowed  'twas  wanted.  If  the  old  lady  have  failed  in 
there,  us  must  wait  for  nature  to  take  its  course.  The 
current  will  run  her  to  the  deep  part;  but  you  can't 
drag  the  middle  of  the  lee  —  'tis  fifty  feet  and  more. 
However  she'll  be  up  in  seven  or  eight  days." 

"  I  can't  believe  it,"  declared  Jacob.  "  I  can't  pic- 
ture it  without  her." 

"  I'll  lay  you  often  have,  however.  This  lets  your 
Melindy  in,  I  suppose.''  Me  and  my  wife  will  wish  you 
joy,  I'm  sure." 

They  walked  to  the  water,  and  Jacob  marked  his 
grandmother's  bonnet  stranded  at  a  clump  of  growing 
reed-mace. 

"  It's  all  up,"  he  said  — "  look  there !  " 

"  She's  a  goner  sure  enough.  I'll  go  up  for  police- 
man, and  you'd  best  to  get  out  the  punt  and  poke  about. 
Please  God  she'll  rise  again.  Did  you  ever  hear  tell 
about  her  teeth?  " 


108  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  Her  teeth?  "  asked  the  distracted  young  man,  his 
eyes  on  the  bonnet. 

"  Yes  —  there  was  two  pounds  worth  of  gold  in  her 
mouth  —  put  there  in  her  palmy  days ;  but  worth 
money  still,  no  doubt,  to  an  understanding  man.  Gold 
be  gold  —  whether  'tis  in  your  teeth  or  your  pocket." 

Jacob  ran  to  the  punt  and  Mr.  Masterman  followed 
him. 

"  You  might  promise  me  one  thing  to  ease  my  mind 
in  this  terrible  come-along-of-it,"  said  the  veteran. 
"  You  be  master  now,  but  you  won't  turn  me  off,  will 
you?  'Tis  the  last  thing  the  poor  old  lady  would  have 
wished." 


THE  RARE  POPPY 

Wesley  Keat  was  never  what  you  might  call  a  sociable 
young  man  to  liis  fellow-creatures ;  but,  like  a  good 
few  other  people,  though  he  didn't  take  too  kindly  to 
his  own  race,  he  was  friendly  enough  to  other  orders 
of  creation.  And  when  we  say  a  man  or  woman's 
unsociable,  it's  just  our  conceit,  if  you  understand  me, 
and  we  mean  no  more  than  that  they're  unsociable  to 
ourselves.  But  if  a  party  here  and  there  finds  some- 
thing else  more  interesting  than  us,  and  better  company, 
and  more  uplifting  to  the  mind  and  soothing  to  the 
nerves,  why  shouldn't  he  seek  it?  I've  known  shepherds 
a  lot  happier  with  their  sheep  than  with  their  kind,  and 
horsemen  better  content  along  with  their  team  than 
their  fellow  ploughboys ;  while  as  for  dogs,  there's 
scores  of  people  who  like  'em  better  and  trust  'em  better 
than  humans.  Again,  'tis  a  most  commonplace  and 
everyday  thing  to  see  the  old  maids  wrapped  up  in 
cats  and  birds ;  and  I've  heard  one  of  they  neuter  sort 
of  females  say  in  all  sober  honesty  that  she'd  sooner 
live  with  a  cage  of  song  birds  than  a  nursery  of  little 
children.  And  man}'  there  are  who  feel  the  same, 
though  lacking  the  courage  to  tell  it  out. 

Wesley  Keat  was  set  on  none  of  these  things,  however. 
His  mind  turned  to  science,  and  from  his  youth  up  he 
loved  growing  things  —  the  trees  and  herbs  and  ferns 

and  grasses,  and  all  the  flower-bearing,  fruit-bearing, 

lOG 


110  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

and  seed-bearing  creatures  of  the  field.  'Twas  in  his 
blood  to  gather  'em  and  try  to  understand  'em ;  seeing 
which  a  schoolmaster,  who  had  the  training  of  the  child, 
showed  a  rare  spark  of  sense  and  encouraged  him.  For 
'tis  only  the  teacher  with  great  wisdom  looks  out  for 
the  signposts  in  a  child's  nature,  and  suffers  the  young 
thing  to  bring  out  what's  in  it.  'Tis  all  very  w^ell  to 
say,  "  Train  up  a  child  in  the  way  he  should  go,"  but 
first  you've  got  to  find  the  way  he  should  go;  and  the 
worst  of  schoolmasters  is  that  they  don't  know  any 
other  way  than  their  own,  and  when  the  child  shows 
a  bud  here  or  a  shoot  there  that's  out  of  their  experi- 
ence and  doubtful  in  their  eyes,  the  first  thing  they're 
tempted  to  do  is  to  prune  it  off. 

Wesley  Keat  had  luck,  however,  and  fell  in  with  an 
understanding  man,  who  found  the  child's  instinct 
turned  to  the  science  of  flowers ;  so  his  great  natural 
cleverness  came  to  understanding  ears  in  good  time, 
and  the  boy  rose  from  strength  to  strength  till  he  was 
took  on,  at  twenty  years  of  age,  at  the  famous  nurseries 
to  Launceston.  Cumow's  nurseries  were  known  far 
and  wide  fifty  years  ago,  before  our  flower  gardens  were 
thought  so  much  about  as  now,  and  Curnow,  a  far- 
seeing  and  shrewd  old  man,  suirmied  up  young  Keat  and 
reckoned  to  get  his  money's  worth  out  of  him  and  a 
bit  more  in  course  of  time. 

So  Keat  went  to  Cumow's,  and,  along  of  his  knowl- 
edge and  natural  cleverness  in  the  matter  of  green 
things,  he  soon  raised  the  value  of  the  stock,  and  showed 
he  had  a  hand  for  the  Cape  heaths  and  other  difficult 
hard-wooded   shrubs,   that   was   second   to   none.     The 


THE  RARE  POPPY  111 

more  tricky  a  plant  might  be,  the  harder  Keat  worked 
at  it.  And  all  the  time  he  spent  his  evenings  in  study, 
and  laboured  at  his  botany,  and  crammed  his  head  with 
the  subject.  And  when  he  took  his  holiday,  to  Kew 
Gardens  in  London  town  he  went,  and  put  in  his  days 
there  and  increased  his  knowledge.  He  even  rose  so 
high  as  to  write  for  a  garden  newspaper,  and  Curnow, 
who'd  never  done  that,  got  to  be  properly  proud  of 
Wesley,  because,  along  of  his  newspaper  writings,  he 
brought  more  fame  to  Curnow's,  and  more  money  like- 
wise. 

Yet,  for  all  his  success,  you  couldn't  call  Keat  a  bit 
of  a  sociable  creature.  He  was  put  in  authority  at 
Curnow's  after  his  second  year,  and  if  he'd  shown  half 
the  kindness  and  unwearied  patience  with  men  and  boys 
that  he  showed  with  fussy  and  difficult  plants,  no  doubt 
the  people  would  have  been  quite  content ;  but  he  did 
not.  He'd  put  himself  a  lot  more  out  of  the  way  for  a 
seed,  or  a  cutting,  than  he  would  for  a  fellow-being 
with  an  immortal  soul ;  and  so  it  came  about  that  his 
equals,  though  they  respected  liim,  didn't  like  him, 
and  those  who  were  under  him  for  the  most  part  hated 
him. 

And  that  brings  me  to  Noah  Tonkin's  daughter, 
Mercy  Tonkin.  They  both  worked  to  Curnow's  nur- 
series, and  Noah  himself  was  head  out-of-door  man,  and 
very  skilled  in  the  business  of  the  flowers ;  but  Mercy, 
who  had  high  education,  was  in  the  office,  and  kept  the 
books.  A  pretty  maid  she  was,  yet  frosty  —  dark, 
with  a  pale  skin  and  brown  eyes,  and  a  strong  charac- 
ter.     But,  strange  to  sa}^,  she  was,  for  a  woman,  pretty 


112  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

much  what  Wesley  Keat  was  for  a  man.  She  hadn't 
the  art  of  making  friends,  and  didn't  miss  'em,  either. 
Yet  she  was  fond  of  plants,  too ;  but  in  her  own  little 
garden  at  home  you  could  see  her  character  by  the  very 
way  she  tended  it. 

She  kept  house  for  old  Noah,  who  was  a  widow-man, 
and  they  were  happy  together,  and  he  felt  pretty  hope- 
ful she'd  be  an  old  maid.  And  if  anybody  doubted  it, 
he'd  point  to  her  own  little  garden,  and  ask  'em  if 
a  girl  who  stamped  her  character  on  growing  things, 
same  as  Mercy  had  done,  would  ever  so  far  relax  as  to 
love  a  man. 

"  She  rules  her  garden  with  a  rod  of  iron,"  said  old 
Noah,  who  loved  a  joke,  but  could  never  make  his 
daughter  see  one.  "  You'll  not  find  a  weed  dare  to 
show  its  head  there,  and  every  plant  has  its  appointed 
place,  and  be  tied  to  its  appointed  stick,  and  have  to 
bloom  to  its  appointed  day  for  fear  of  her  displeasure. 
And  you  won't  find  an  invalid  plant,  nor  yet  a  sickly, 
nor  yet  a  poor  doer,  for  if  a  thing  looks  down  in  the 
mouth,  out  he  comes.  She  won't  have  nothing  die  a 
natural  death  in  her  garden." 

That  was  the  girl's  nature.  And  she  was  also  shy 
and  a  bit  hesitating  with  humans,  though  she  never 
hesitated  with  plants. 

And  though  both  she  and  Wesley  were  as  busy  as 
bees,  yet  they  met  often  enough  on  business,  and  people 
said  that  they  might  make  a  very  good  match,  for  they 
had  a  lot  in  common,  seemingly.  But  others  thought 
they  had  too  much  in  common,  and  'twould  be  flint  on 
steel  if  they  ever  tried  courting. 


THE  RARE  POPPY  113 

The  truth  about  love  be  this :  it  very  seldom  strikes 
two  hearts  simultaneous.  A  man  either  gets  the  start 
of  the  woman,  or  the  woman  begins  quicker  than  the 
man.  And  often  only  the  love  of  the  one  made  visible 
will  start  it  in  t'other  party.  For  there's  some  plain- 
featured  women  will  fall  in  love  most  furious  if  they  find 
a  man  look  at  'em  twice;  because  to  think  a  man  could 
ever  love  'em  at  all  be  quite  enough  to  turn  their 
heads  and  start  them  with  a  fine  and  lasting  passion. 
And  that's  why  ugly  women  make  better  wives  most 
times  than  pretty  ones,  for  they  be  bent  on  showing 
the  man  that  loved  'em  he  made  no  mistake. 

Sure  enough  there  grew  up  to  be  a  sort  of  under- 
standing between  Keat  and  Mercy.  He  was  above  her 
in  his  position,  but  her  cleverness  and  character  put 
her  on  level  terms,  and  a  thing  like  that  didn't  count 
anyway  where  love  is.  They  were  practical  about  it, 
however,  and  didn't  keep  company  or  anything  of  that 
sort,  but  just  worked  hard  and  saved  money,  and  had 
their  eyes  on  each  other,  and  minded  their  own  am- 
bitions meanwhile.  They  met  at  choir  practice,  for 
both  were  chapel  members,  and  singing  was  the  only 
pleasure  they  allowed  themselves.  A  rather  fish}'  sort 
of  courting,  in  the  judgment  of  everyday  people,  and 
some  folks  prophesied  they'd  never  come  together  and 
be  man  and  wife  till  they  was  too  old  to  work,  or  shine 
in  any  way.  But  others  said  it  would  happen  on  a  sud- 
den, and  doubted  not  they  understood  each  other,  and 
would  announce  they  was  tokened  some  fine  day  when 
we  least  expected  it.  How  far  they'd  got,  however, 
none  knew,  when  the  surprising  thing  happened,  and 


114?  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Wesley  Keat  was  offered  a  great  task  by  his  master. 

For  Cumow  was  making  a  bid  then  to  be  one  of  the 
first  in  the  land  for  new  and  choice  plants,  and  as  all 
other  tip-top  concerns  were  sending  out  collectors  to 
foreign  lands  for  plants  and  seeds  and  rare  things,  he 
decided  to  sink  a  bit  of  money  and  do  the  same.  And 
though  Keat  had  never  been  out  of  England  before, 
he  was  so  well  up  in  plants  and  their  ways,  and  so 
learned  in  all  the  best  collections  in  England,  that  they 
reckoned  that  they  couldn't  do  better  than  send  this 
native  son.  He  had  character,  you  see,  which  was  the 
vital  thing.  He  was  strong,  and  knew  his  own  mind, 
and  showed  himself  to  be  a  leader  of  men ;  so  old  Cur- 
now  went  "  nap  "  on  him,  as  they  say,  and  arranged 
an  expedition  to  an  outlandish  part  of  the  world,  and 
engaged  a  young  Cornish  doctor  called  Trecarrow  to 
go  along  with  Wesley  to  Thibet.  They  was  to  get  the 
niggers  there,  and  everything  was  planned  out,  and  an 
arrangement  made  with  the  Government.  A  formidable 
task,  \'ou  might  say,  but  the  man  rose  to  it  like  a  trout 
to  a  fly.  He  didn't  show  much,  being  the  sort  that 
never  winks  an  eyelid  before  good  fortune  or  bad;  but 
no  doubt  he  glowed  in  secret  to  think  of  his  great 
chance,  and  no  doubt  he  reckoned  he'd  do  wonders,  and 
astonish  the  gardening  world  with  his  finds  when  he 
came   home-along. 

So  he  went,  and,  though  busy  enough  before  the 
start,  he  had  time  to  see  a  bit  of  IMercy  Tonkin,  and 
come  to  an  understanding  with  her.  From  her  father 
I  heard  it,  and  how  he  got  it  was  exceptional,  for  he 
weren't   in    Mercy's    secrets   more    than   anybody   else. 


THE  RARE  POPPY  115 

But  just  after  Keat  set  forth  on  his  travels,  she  must 
have  been  in  a  soft  mood  for  a  minute;  and  she  told 
old  Noah  that  if  all  went  well  with  the  expedition,  and 
Wesley  covered  himself  with  glory,  as  seemed  like 
enough,  then  she  and  he  were  to  be  tokened  before  the 
world  on  his  return. 

"  A  frosty  bargain,  in  my  opinion,"  Tonkin  said  to 
his  girl.  "  Couldn't  you  give  him  no  more  hope  than 
that?  'Tis  poor  love-making  that  hangs  on  a  man's 
luck." 

And  Mercy  had  answered  her  father  in  these  words  — 

"  That's  what  he  said,  and  it  weren't  for  me  to  say 
more.     He  knows  best." 

Well,  they  understood  each  other,  no  doubt,  and 
Noah  didn't  argue  about  it.  But  he  guessed  that 
Mercy  wouldn't  have  let  the  future  hinge  on  young 
Keat's  good  fortune  if  he'd  offered  for  her  in  a  less  cold- 
blooded and  calculating  sort  of  way.  He  doubted,  too, 
for  it  struck  him  that  an  ambitious  man  like  Keat,  if  he 
came  home  famous,  might  find  himself  a  good  peg  higher 
in  the  world  after;  and  then  he  might  forget  what  he'd 
proposed  to  Mercy,  and  look  a  bit  higher  for  his 
fortune. 

However,  that  was  a  thing  that  could  only  be 
thought,  and  I  didn't  think  it.  To  my  mind  it  looked 
as  if  Keat  might  be  acting  from  a  sporting  motive  not 
to  tie  the  girl  if  he  failed ;  and  as  iNIercy  seemed  to  be 
satisfied  with  the  arrangement,  her  father  shut  his 
mouth  about  it,  and  hoped,  as  an  honourable  and  right- 
eous man,  the  traveller  would  not  disappoint  her  when 
he  came  home  again. 


116  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

She  heard  from  Wesley  —  very  short  letters  —  and 
his  master  got  long  ones.  We  learned  in  the  nurseries 
that  all  was  going  fine  with  the  hunt,  and  that  Keat  and 
Trecarrow  and  a  third  white  man,  a  scientific  chap, 
liad  got  together  twenty  experienced  savages,  who 
knew  the  wilds,  and  that  they'd  started  in  good  trim 
and  full  of  hopes.  And  then  there  was  a  long  time  when 
we  heard  nought,  while  they  was  in  the  wilderness, 
grubbing  up  fine  things  that  no  white  man  had  ever 
yet  set  eyes  upon  for  certain.  And  then  came  wonder- 
ful good  news,  and  we'd  hardly  done  being  pleased  about 
it,  when  cruel  bad  news  followed  on  top.  For  first  we 
heard  that  Keat  had  come  through  all  right,  and  got 
twenty  cases  of  precious  plants,  and  was  making  for 
the  coast,  to  ship  'em  off  so  quick  as  possible ;  and  then, 
a  fortnight  later,  came  the  shattering  tale  that  all  was 
lost,  and  that  some  heathen  hillmen  had  fallen  foul  of 
the  people  and  stopped  the  expedition,  and  killed  two 
or  three  of  his  niggers,  and  took  him  and  the  doctor 
and  the  scientific  chap  prisoners. 

It  got  to  be  a  Government  affair,  and  it  was  six 
months  before  Wesley  and  Trecarrow  and  the  other 
white  man  came  back  to  England  in  a  very  poor  state  of 
mind  and  body.  For  they'd  been  treated  terrible  bad, 
and  they  told  a  shameful  tale  of  their  sufferings.  And 
then  it  came  out  how,  according  to  Trecarrow,  it  was  aU 
Keat's  fault  that  they  had  messed  it  up ;  while,  accord- 
ing to  Keat,  it  was  all  the  doctor's  fault. 

I  heard  Trecarrow  myself,  for  I  was  in  the  office 
when  he  came  to  see  Mr.   Curnow,  and  he  looked  ten 


THE  RARE  POPPY  117 

years  older  than  when  he  started  —  a  proper  wreck,  in 
fact. 

"  That  fool,"  he  said,  meaning  Wesley  Keat,  "  spoiled 
all  by  his  overbearing  and  bullying  ways.  He  treated 
the  niggers  as  though  they  were  a  lot  of  dogs,  and 
worked  them  off  their  legs,  and  never  cared  a  button 
about  their  own  manners  and  customs,  which  are  the 
first  things  you've  got  to  consider  if  you  want  foreign- 
ers to  please  you.  He  kept  bleating  about  '  England,' 
and  the  way  Englishmen  work,  and  all  that  nonsense  — 
as  if  the  Thibetans  from  the  mountains  cared  a  cuss 
about  England  and  what  we  did  at  home !  Why  should 
they.''  He  said  they  must  be  shown  what  he  expected 
from  the  first,  and  he  treated  'em  like  machines  instead 
of  friends,  until  they  got  to  hate  the  man,  and  I  was 
often  afraid  they  would  knock  him  on  the  head.  And 
then,  when  we'd  come  through,  and  hadn't  twenty-five 
more  miles  to  get  down,  we  ran  up  against  a  rough-and- 
ready  race  of  folk,  who  hadn't  any  use  for  white  men 
anyway,  and  wanted  most  careful  handling  and  flatter- 
ing. He  ought  to  have  made  a  fuss  over  them,  and 
given  them  presents,  and  buttered  them  up.  Instead  of 
which,  finding  they  were  a  lot  of  cut-throat  dogs,  Keat 
goes  and  treats  them  according,  and  tries  to  browbeat 
'em  and  talk  '  England  '  to  'cm.  And,  before  we  knew 
it,  they  were  on  to  us.  Our  expedition  didn't  care  a 
straw.  They  told  the  enemy  niggers  that  I  was  a  good 
man,  and  that  Keat  was  a  bad  one ;  and  our  own  beg- 
gars helped  to  burn  the  plant  cases,  and  danced  round 
the  bonfires  with  the  rest!     Six  months  of  the  hardest 


118  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

work  mortal  men  ever  did  was  all  gone  in  smoke  and 
flame  in  an  hour !  I  thought  they  put  us  on  top  of  the 
cases ;  but  the  chief  of  the  gang  was  a  smart  old  devil, 
and  contented  himself  with  a  little  gentle  torture. 
Then  it  became  a  question  of  money,  and  then  of 
threats,  and  at  last  the  soldiers  came  up  and  took  us 
away.  And  every  bit  of  the  trouble  is  Keat's  fault,  for 
a  more  obstinate,  pig-headed,  tactless  ass  never  went 
out  of  England  to  worry  a  lot  of  niggers.  And  if  there 
were  many  whites  like  him  in  the  East,  it  would  soon  be 
'  good-bye  '  to  the  Empire.  He's  got  no  more  than  he 
deserved,  and  it's  thanks  to  me  he's  alive  today." 

Cumow  knew  very  well  the  tale  might  be  true.  For 
he'd  only  thought  of  Keat  as  a  strong  man,  who  could 
make  himself  obeyed.  He  never  calculated  that  his 
way,  which  did  all  right  in  Cornwall,  mightn't  suit  the 
savages  in  Thibet.  But  so  it  was ;  and  as  for  Wesley, 
his  story,  of  course,  took  quite  a  different  shape.  It 
was  all  Trecarrow's  fault,  according  to  him,  because 
the  doctor  never  supported  him,  and  didn't  care  a  but- 
ton for  discipline,  and  backed  up  the  niggers  and  their 
head  man,  and  gave  them  liquor  from  the  stores,  and 
was  often  as  drunk  as  a  fly  himself  of  an  evening.  In 
fact,  a  task  difiicult  enough  at  best  had  been  made 
doubly  difficult  by  Trecarrow,  and  Trecarrow  had  dis- 
graced the  name  of  Englishman  and  made  it  a  byword 
in  Thibet.  And  then,  when  the  final  trouble  came, 
instead  of  standing  together  like  one  man  and  putting 
a  firm  face  on  it,  the  niggers  had  taken  their  cue  from 
Trecarrow,  and  made  friends  with  the  enemy,  and  sided 
against  him  and  let  him  down. 


THE  RARE  POPPY  119 

Wesley  was  terrible  bitter  about  it,  and  never  spoke 
to  the  doctor  no  more. 

"  One  tiling's  certain,"  he  said  to  Curnow  a  bit  later, 
"  if  I'd  brought  back  all  I  collected,  there'd  have  been 
a  stir  made,  for  the  country  is  rich  in  amazing  stuff 
not  known  to  cultivation,  let  alone  new  species  alto- 
gether. And  I  shall  go  again,  as  sure  as  I  stand  here, 
whether  it's  for  you  or  for  somebody  else." 

"  You  certainly  won't  go  for  me,  my  son,"  said  old 
Curnow.  ""  This  racket  has  run  into  four  figures,  and 
I'm  not  going  to  tr^^  again  —  too  old." 

"  It's  a  cruel  tragedy,"  declared  Keat,  "  a  shameful 
thing,  when  I  was  actually  through  with  it,  as  you  may 
say,  and  I  knew  your  name  and  mine  would  be  tacked 
to  a  dozen  new  plants  in  a  year's  time.  But  I'm  not 
beat.  I'll  go  again  and  I'll  take  a  man  next  time,  not 
a  drunken,  worthless  dog  like  Trecarrow." 

Old  Curnow  looked  at  him.  He  was  a  kindly  master, 
and  always  patient  with  young  fellows,  and  a  good 
working  Christian,  if  ever  I  met  one. 

"  Next  time  you  go,  Wesley,  you  take  a  pinch  of 
sense  and  a  larger  patience,  and  the  wit  to  understand 
that  black  men  ain't  white  ones,"  he  said.  "  And  when 
you  talk  of  '  England,'  remember  that  England  haven't 
made  her  way  in  the  world  by  ordering  the  folk  about, 
but  by  the  good  old  motto  of  '  Live  and  let  live.'  We 
can't  all  be  teetotal  because  a'ou  are ;  we  can't  all  live 
on  ambition  and  the  thought  of  fame  because  you  do ; 
and  we  can't  all  run  about  to  do  your  bidding,  if  you 
ask  us  to  do  things  that's  against  our  customs  and  our 
daily  use.     Learn  from  this  to  be  larger-minded  and  see 


120  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

other  points  of  view  beside  your  own.  There's  a  lot 
of  difference  between  being  a  leader  of  men  and  a  driver 
of  men,  my  boy;  and  wliile  the  world  will  always  have 
use  for  leaders,  it  very  soon  won't  have  no  use  for  driv- 
ers. The  drivers  will  find  themselves  driven  ere  long,  "^ 
and  you'll  live  to  see  it,  if  I  don't.  And  that's  about 
all  there  is  to  it.  So  get  to  work ;  there's  plenty  wait- 
ing for  your  cleverness." 

I  think  Kcat  was  grateful,  even  if  he  hadn't  the  art  to 
show  it.  He  changed  a  bit  from  that  time,  and  was 
milder  in  his  manners.  He  even  allowed  he  might  have 
made  a  mistake  here  and  there;  but  his  pride  didn't 
slack,  and  you  couldn't  say  he  got  more  friendly  to  the 
men.  They  weren't  broken-hearted  over  his  bad  luck, 
by  any  means,  and  the  kindest  and  easiest  among  'em 
had  a  bit  of  a  laugh  at  his  expense. 

Only  one  heart  burned  for  him,  as  Noah  Tonkin  told 
me,  when  we  was  digging  tulip  bulbs  together,  and  that 
was  liis  daughter's. 

"  She'd  like  to  tear  the  eyes  out  of  our  heads  when 
she  hears  us  chaffing  about  it,"  he  said. 

"  Consoled  the  man,  no  doubt.?  "  I  answered. 

"  As  to  that,  I  can't  tell.  You  know  what  secret 
birds  they  be.  I  wouldn't  say  they've  done  more  than 
pass  the  time  of  day  since  he  came  back.  And  my 
own  impression  is  that  the  stiff-necked  beggar  is  going 
to  keep  the  bargain  he  made  before  he  went,  and  say 
no  more  about  it." 

Well,  that  was  an  astonishing  thing. 

"  In  face  of  the  way  she  champions  him?  "  I  asked. 

"  He  don't  know  that  Mercy  champions  him,"  an- 


THE  RARE  POPPY  121 

sweerd  the  girl's  father.     "  She'd  rather  die  than  let 
him  think  she  was  fighting  his  battles." 

"  They  beat  me,"  I  said.  "  Never  heard  tell  about 
such  an  uncomfortable  pair.  No  human  nature  in  'em 
that  I  can  see." 

"  They'll  do  Avhat  they'll  do,"  prophesied  Noah. 

"  Hast  heard  about  his  poppy  .'*  "  I  asked.  And  Ton- 
kin had  not,  so  I  told  him. 

Wesley  came  into  the  propagating  house  a  week  after 
he  was  home,  and  brought  with  him  three  poppy  heads 
—  small,  hairy  things. 

"  All  I  brought  home,"  said  Keat.  "  From  where  I 
found  it,  and  by  certain  signs,  I  believe  it's  a  great 
wonder.  I  held  those  capsules  in  my  closed  hand  for 
three  days,  while  they  were  ill-treating  me.  I  never 
parted  from  them.  I  kept  'em  hid  in  my  cheek  half 
a  day  once.  It's  a  sacred  poppy  out  there,  and  some  of 
the  men  had  seen  it ;  but  they  wouldn't  gather  it,  or 
let  me.  So  I  stole  out  of  my  tent  b}^  night  and  got  'em, 
and  never  let  'em  go  again." 

His  story  came  to  be  known  through  the  gardens,  and 
the  seed  sprang  all  right,  and  there  was  a  good  deal  of 
interest  to  find  what  it  would  turn  to.  It  came  up  like 
a  weed,  and  made  strong  plants,  with  notliing  much  out 
of  the  common  about  them.  But  Curnow  was  as  keen 
as  any  of  us,  for  if  it  turned  out  a  fine  thing  and  made 
good,  there  was  money  in  it,  of  course.  And  meantime 
Noah  Tonkin  spoke  to  me  again  about  his  daughter. 

"  Nothing's  happened,"  he  said.  "  The  man  holds 
off,  and  don't  say  a  word  about  the  past,  and  she's  far 
too  proud  to  do  so ;  but  in  secret  I  know  he's  more  to 


122  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

her  than  ever,  and  it  may  or  may  not  be  the  same 
with  liim ;  but  one  thing's  certain  —  he'll  never  come  to 
her  a  defeated  man." 

"  You  can  only  leave  it  to  nature,"  I  told  him. 
"  Perhaps  he's  waiting  for  the  poppy.  It  won't  go  far 
to  pay  Curnow  for  his  losses,  but  it  may  do  a  bit  for 
Keat,  and  lessen  the  smart." 

However,  as  luck  would  have  it,  the  rare  poppy  was 
a  failure,  for  a  poorer,  meaner  little  creature  you  never 
saw  —  bad  colour,  bad  shape,  bad  everything  —  and  it 
seemed  strange  to  think  a  man  had  gone  through  fire 
and  water  for  such  rubbish,  and  dreamed  dreams  about 
it,  no  doubt,  and  thought  he  was  bringing  home  a 
wonder,  very  likeh'.  Sacred  it  might  have  been  in 
Thibet,  but  it  weren't  worth  twopence  in  England. 

Curnow  laughed  when  he  saw  it  out  —  a  little,  dingy 
weed  that  wouldn't  have  tempted  a  butterfly  or  called 
to  a  bee. 

"  Well,  Wesley,  if  3"our  other  treasures  were  no 
better  than  this,  my  son,"  he  said,  in  a  kind  voice  and 
with  a  twinkling  e^-e,  that  robbed  his  words  of  their 
sting,  "  'tis  as  well  you  left  'em  behind,  I'm  thinking." 

So  the  poppy  was  cast  out  on  the  rubbish  heap,  and, 
after  a  bit  of  chaff,  it  was  forgot.  And  time  moved  on, 
and  Keat  wrote  a  little  book  about  his  travels  that  was 
published.  But  it  didn't  make  no  stir.  He  gave  one  or 
two  of  the  best  educated  amongst  us  his  book,  and  he 
gave  a  copy  to  Mercy  Tonkin.  And  she  fed  on  it  in 
secret,  so  her  father  told  me,  and  wrote  afterwards  to 
Wesley  and  thanked  liim.,  and  said  it  was  very  interest- 


THE  RARE  POPPY 

ing.  Just  a  cold  sort  of  letter,  like  herself,  you  may 
be  sure,  for  though  I  daresay  the  girl  fairly  panted 
to  write  some  nice,  pretty  things  about  it,  that  self- 
conscious  was  she,  and  that  frightened  of  showing  a 
glimpse  of  her  hidden  heart,  that  she  let  it  go  with  scant 
thanks,  and  instead  of  praising  it  up  hill  and  down  dale, 
and  saying  what  a  wonder  he  was  to  have  done  such 
things,  and  mourning  his  bad  luck,  and  so  on,  she  only 
ended  up  by  telling  him  the  misprints,  of  wliich  she 
found  five. 

Then,  I  suppose,  they  must  have  drifted  apart, 
though  there's  no  doubt  all  the  time  the  man  was  long- 
ing for  a  sign  which  Mercy  couldn't  give,  and  she  was 
hungering  for  a  word  which  he  couldn't  speak.  They 
were  built  so ;  and  with  that  sort  the  mischief  is  that 
none  can  help  them.  Once  let  'em  get  together,  and 
they'll  face  the  world  and  fight  for  themselves  like  a 
pair  of  missel-thrushes;  but  to  bring  'em  together  is 
impossible  for  outsiders.  They  must  follow  their  own 
natures,  and,  oft  as  not,  ^ath  such  peculiar  and  wOful 
creatures,  their  qualities  keep  'em  apart,  for  all  their 
sense,  and  they're  quite  powerless  to  break  through  the 
barriers  that  character  has  built  up  round  'em.  Keat 
went  on  his  way,  and  worked  harder  than  ever,  and  grew 
more  silent,  if  possible.  But  we  saw  signs  that  he'd 
learned  his  lesson,  for  he  seemed  to  begin  gradually  to 
recognize  that  every  man  has  his  rights  and  his  hopes 
and  his  fears,  and  'tis  every  other  man's  part  to  respect 
his  neighbour's  interests.  I  went  so  far  as  to  praise 
him  once,  being  old  enough  for  his  grandfather,  though, 


124  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

of  course,   only   a  gardener,  without  all  his   learning. 

"  Keat,"  I  said,  "  I  do  believe  you  begin  to  see  that 
one  man's  as  good  as  another." 

"  No,"  he  said,  "  not  that.  There's  no  equality. 
But  I  begin  to  see  the  worst  have  their  rights,  same  as 
the  best." 

Then  came  the  upshot,  and  the  terrible  curious  acci- 
dent that  makes  this  tale  worth  telling.  Not  till  next 
spring  did  it  happen,  and  meantime  that  ridiculous  man 
and  woman  went  on  with  nothing  between  them  but 
their  silly  selves.  And  then  it  happened  that  old  Ton- 
kin fell  ill,  Avith  a  tissick  on  his  chest  that  kept  him  a 
bed-lier  for  a  week.  And  three  days  after  he  was  taken 
sick,  Wesley  Keat  called  to  know  how  he  fared.  It  may 
have  been  for  hidden  reasons  that  he  done  so,  or  it  may 
have  been  just  for  friendship  and  nought  else,  though 
not  the  sort  of  things  one  would  have  expected  from 
him ;  but  he  went.  He  called  on  his  way  to  Curnow's, 
though  it  took  him  half  a  male  out  of  the  road,  and, 
being  early,  he  found  Mercy  Tonkin  giving  a  touch  to 
her  garden  before  she  went  to  work. 

She  was  bending  down,  training  some  poor  creature 
to  a  stick,  that  would  much  rather  have  gone  free, 
no  doubt,  and,  hearing  Wesley  click  the  latch  of  the 
gate,  she  jumped  round.  But  she  couldn't  rise  quick 
enough,  and  he  was  beside  her,  and  stretched  out  his 
hand,  and  waited  while  she  took  off  her  garden  glove. 

He  saw  she  was  startled,  and  appeared  worried  about 
something,  so  he  doubted  not  that  old  Noah  might  be 
worse. 

"  Good  morning,  Mercy,"  he  said.      "  I  thought  I'd 


THE  RARE  POPPY  125 

start  early,  and  look  in  here  on  my  way,  to  know  how 
your  father  was,  before  I  went  to  work." 

"  He's  no  worse.  Doctor  isn't  troubled  about  him. 
He'll  be  all  right  in  a  few  days." 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  it.  ]VIy,  how  your  garden's 
grown !     I  haven't  seen  it  for  a  good  while  now." 

"  Not  since  you  came  home." 

He  cast  liis  eye  over  it,  and  she  flushed  up,  all  about 
nothing,  seemingly,  and  kept  getting  between  him  and 
the  flowers. 

"  Don't  you  stop  now ;  you'll  be  late,  and  so  shall 
I,  if  I  don't  go  in  and  get  ready.  Good-bye,  and  thank 
you  for  coming." 

But  though  no  doubt  he'd  have  taken  the  liint  quick 
enough  any  other  time,  she  found  herself  talking  in 
vain.     The  m.an  stood  staring  like  a  stuck  pig. 

"  What !  Good  Powers  !  "  he  said,  his  eyes  on  her 
garden.     "  Get  out  of  the  way,  INIercy  —  let  me  see !  " 

Now  she  was  red  as  a  rose,  and  I'll  lay  she'd  never 
been  so  put  about  in  all  her  life  before. 

"  There's  nothing  to  see,  I've  asked  you  to  go, 
haven't  I.?" 

With  that  he  did  a  most  amazing  thing,  for  he  took 
her  by  the  shoulders  and  fairly  spun  her  round  out  of 
the  way.  Then  he  went  alongside  the  flower-beds,  where 
everything  was  standing  to  attention  in  the  morning 
light  —  all  stiff  and  straight,  presenting  arms  like 
flower-soldiers,  and  not  a  leaf  or  bud  out  of  place. 

"  How  dare  you  ?  "  she  cried.  "  You  ought  to  bt 
ashamed !  " 

"  My  poppy  !     Oh,  Mercy  —  you  wonder !  " 


126  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Right  in  the  midst  of  the  garden  it  was  lording  it 
there,  the  poor  little,  miserable  weed,  as  if  it  was  the 
queen  of  the  show.  And  for  certain  it  was  —  to  Mercy 
Tonkin. 

"How  coiild  you.''"  he  asked,  just  dmnbfoundered 
and  simple  and  human,  and  knocked  oflp  his  high  horse 
for  once,  like  a  common  man. 

"  Because  —  because  I'm  a  silly  fool,  I  suppose." 

"  I  know  better,"  he  said.  "  'Tis  because  I  had  it 
in  my  hand  for  three  days,  and  because  I  suffered  for 
it,  and,  above  all,  because  it  is  worthless  to  all  the  rest 
of  the  world  —  all  but  you  and  me.  And,  before  God, 
'tis  the  most  precious  flower  that  He  ever  made,  and 
dearer  to  me  than  all  the  flowers  in  the  world  from  this 
day  forward,  Mercy !  " 

That  was  pretty  tall  for  Wesley  —  a  proper  bit  of 
human  nature  —  and  I'm  sure  the  maiden  would  have 
rose  to  like  heights  if  it  had  been  in  her  to  do  so ;  but 
she  couldn't. 

There  was  tears  in  her  e^^es,  however,  and  her  voice 
was  broke,  but  all  she  said  was :  "  I'd  never  have  put 
it  there  —  never  —  only  —  only  I  thought  j^ou'd  not 
see  my  garden  again !  " 

So,  after  all,  the  man  had  brought  his  poppy  home 
for  something  better  than  gold  or  fame. 

They  were  married  in  three  months  from  that  time, 
and  what  their  love-making  was  like  is  only  known  to 
their  guardian  angels,  for  no  man  or  woman  ever 
saw  them  so  much  as  smile  into  each  other's  faces.  But 
they  vanished  from  among  us  before  very  long,  for 
Keat,  he  won  high  advancement  a  year  after,  and  was 


THE  RARE  POPPY  127 

taken  on  at  Kew  Gardens.  And  now  he  lives  up  that 
way  with  Mercy,  and  they've  got  a  brace  of  very  nice 
children,  and  are  quite  the  Londoners,  so  old  Noah  tells 
us. 

He  went  to  pay  'em  a  visit  last  year,  and  said  they 
was  grown  so  fine  that  he  feared  for  himself,  and  scarce 
liked  to  sit  on  their  velvet  chairs. 

"  They  have  a  little  garden,  however,"  he  told  me, 
"  and  if  you'd  seen  it  at  the  other  end  of  the  world, 
you'd  still  have  known  it  for  my  Mercy's.  Some  brave, 
fine  things  in  it,  however,  and  some  I've  never  seen,  for 
all  my  experience." 

"  Be  the  rare  poppy  there?  "  I  asked. 

"  It's  there  in  a  place  of  honour,"  he  said. 

"  'Tis  the  link  betweeen  'em  and  ordinary  humans," 
I  told  Noah.  "  So  long  as  that  ugly  little  beast  be  in 
their  garden,  you  needn't  fear  for  'em." 


THE  REVOLVER 
I 

It  is  a  very  common  thing  for  a  business  to  run  in 
families.  You'll  find  it  with  kings,  and  you'll  find  it 
with  tinkers,  and  ^-ou'll  find  it  with  all  manner  of  call- 
ings in  life  below  the  one  and  above  the  other;  yet,  as 
a  curious  fact,  you'll  find  that  it  don't  happen  with 
policemen.  Very  seldom  do  you  hear  of  a  constable's 
son  going  into  his  business,  and  so  I'm  one  of  the  excep- 
tions that  make  the  rule,  for  not  only  my  father,  but 
my  grandfather  before  him,  were  both  in  the  Force; 
and  very  good  men,  I  doubt  not,  though,  along  of  one 
thing  and  another,  they  never  rose  to  be  inspectors  like 
myself.  "  Peelers,"  they  were  called,  or  "  Bobbies," 
after  the  famous  man  that  invented  them;  but  that 
name  is  dying  out  in  our  time,  though  there's  still  plenty 
of  slang  terms  for  us  in  common  mouths. 

Grandfather  Thomas  Lobb  and  his  son,  Thomas 
Lobb,  both  worked  in  the  place  of  their  birth,  St.  Tid, 
a  Cornish  church-town  famous  the  world  over  for  its 
slate  quarries ;  and  when  my  turn  came  I,  Thomas  Lobb, 
of  the  third  generation,  done  the  same,  though  I  can 
well  remember  how  my  mother  begged  me  to  go  into  the 
quarries,  where  most  of  our  rising  generation  of  young 
men  went  as  a  matter  of  course. 

But  there  it  was ;  the  feeling  for  law  and  order  had 

128 


THE  REVOLVER  129 

got  deep  in  me  through  my  forebears,  and  I  took  to  the 
truncheon  as  a  matter  of  course.  To  Plymouth  I  went 
to  learn  my  business,  and  then  to  Launceston ;  and  then 
in  the  fulness  of  my  powers,  and  with  a  very  good  record 
of  fifteen  years,  I  got  promoted  to  be  inspector  of  St. 
Tid,  and,  thank  God,  my  father  lived  to  see  it. 

'Twas  like  Moses  and  the  Promised  Land  for  father ; 
because,  though  his  brain  power  had  never  lifted  him 
to  be  inspector,  and  he  retired  on  his  pension  as  a  plain 
constable,  yet  he  was  permitted  to  live  long  enough 
to  see  his  o^vn  son  uplifted ;  and  he  often  said  'twas 
just  as  good  as  if  he'd  got  the  advancement  himself. 
He  departed  this  life  in  great  peace  and  content  three 
years  after  I  came  to  St.  Tid. 

And  now  the  line  of  us  will  break,  for  I've  got  nought 
but  girl  childer,  though  so  fast  the  world  wags,  that 
they  say  by  the  time  they've  growed  we  shall  have 
female  constables  as  a  matter  of  course.  None  of  my 
maids  feel  inclined  that  way,  however,  and  I  hope  no 
such  upheaval  as  women  in  blue  will  happen  in  a  Chris- 
tian land  —  at  any  rate,  in  my  time. 

Of  course  I've  seen  my  share  of  strange  things,  and 
larned  a  bit  about  the  wonders  of  human  nature  and 
the  dark  wa^'s  of  crime,  but  never  no  stranger  thing 
than  the  business  of  Ned  Treby  and  Jack  Tonkin  came 
to  my  notice.  For  it  showed  —  what  policemen,  as 
well  as  common  people,  are  too  apt  to  forget  —  that  as 
a  chain's  no  stronger  than  the  weakest  link,  so  a  man's 
no  stronger  than  the  worst  blood  in  his  veins,  though 
the  worst  may  be  qualified  by  the  best.  But  our  na- 
tures are  not  brand  new  things  handed  to  us  at  birth ; 


130  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

they  are  a  mixture  of  other  natures  that  went  before 
ours  —  a  mLxture  of  many  ingredients,  some  good  and 
some  bad.  And  the  proportions  of  the  mixture  no  man 
can  tell,  or  how  the  mixing  is  done,  or  why  this  man 
resembles  his  grandfather  in  his  manners  and  customs, 
while  his  brother  takes  after  some  other  relation  —  on 
his  mother's  side  so  likely  as  not.  'Tis  a  hidden  book 
of  wisdom,  and  whether  mortal  man  will  ever  be  wise 
enough  to  read  it,  who  can  tell.'' 

Take  Ned  Treby,  for  instance.  To  the  very  colour 
of  him  he  was  different  from  his  family.  They  were 
dark,  like  most  of  us  Cornish  folk,  but  he  was  fair; 
they  were  cheerful  and  everyday  people  in  their  ways 
and  ideas,  but  he  was  stand-offish,  lonely,  and  melan- 
choly. Never  had  no  use  for  company,  kept  his  own 
counsel,  listened  a  lot,  but  spoke  seldom. 

His  mother  said  he  was  the  spit  of  her  great-uncle  — 
a  man  hung  for  sheep-stealing  a  hundred  year  ago. 
Her  own  grandmother  had  said  so  a  year  or  two  after 
Ned  was  born.  But,  of  course,  Mrs.  Treby  never  told 
her  son  when  he  grew  up,  because  it  would  have  hurt 
his  feelings.  He  was  her  eldest,  and  then  came  Arthur 
—  as  like  his  father  as  two  peas  in  mind  and  body  — 
and  then  followed  two  sisters  and  another  brother,  all 
dark  and  cheerful  and  commonplace. 

But  Ned  had  the  brains,  and  at  thirty-two  the  man 
rose  to  be  second  foreman  at  the  quarries,  and  was  in 
very  good  repute  and  renown  with  his  masters,  though 
little  liked  by  his  mates.  He  was  hard  and  unsociable, 
and  all  for  the  Company  rather  than  the  staff;  and 
another  thing  was  that  he  went  neither  to  church  nor 


THE  REVOLVER  ISl 

chapel,  which  made  liis  mother  and  father  very  uneasy 
about  him. 

In  St.  Tid,  to  our  pride,  we  can  say  that  there's 
more  chapels  than  public  houses  —  a  very  rare  achieve- 
ment for  any  English  village  —  and  though  a  sprin- 
kling of  us  were  Church  of  England,  by  far  the  greater 
number  went  to  chapel.  There  were  various  persua- 
sions, of  course,  but  the  Wesyelans  came  out  strong- 
est, as  you'd  expect,  for  the  great  Wesley  himself 
preached  the  glad  tidings  to  St.  Tid,  and  there's  a  gal- 
lery in  the  quarries  to  this  day  known  as  "  Wesley's 
Pulpit,"  because  from  that  spot  he  preached  a  fiery 
sermon  to  our  great-grandfathers,  and  the  echoes  of 
those  brave  words  still  resound  through  North  Corn- 
wall. 

We  love  our  chapels,  and  scheme  to  make  'em  invit- 
ing, not  with  vain  shows,  but  with  comfortable  pews 
and  heating  apparatus  and  oi'gans  and  such-like.  And 
we're  great  singers,  for  choir  practice  is  our  first  pleas- 
ure, and  in  our  singing  competitions  you'll  find  the 
St.  Tid  men  and  maidens  do  oftentimes  come  out  first 
in  the  county. 

But  Ned  Treby  was  no  chapel  member  nor  yet  did 
he  go  to  church,  and  though  none  could  point  a  finger  at 
him,  or  question  his  conduct  or  morals,  all  felt  that  he 
hadn't  got  grace,  and  would  find  himself  in  a  parlous 
fix  if  the  hour  of  temptation  came. 

I  knew  him  very  well,  and  never  found  nothing  to 
quarrel  with  beyond  a  certain  liberty  of  speech  he 
allowed  himself.  He'd  say,  for  instance,  that  good 
behaviour  was  a  matter  of  nature,  not  religion,  and  talk 


132  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

about  human  beings  in  a  way  I  quite  agreed  with,  but 
didn't  approve  of  hearing  on  his  lips.  Because  there's 
much  we  older  men  must  conceal,  and  though  young 
Treby  was  a  thinker,  and  had  arrived  at  certain  opin- 
ions which  couldn't  hurt  you,  nor  yet  me,  the  fact  re- 
mained that  those  opinions  were  no  good  to  boys  and 
girls,  and  might  have  led  the  younger  people  into  law- 
lessness if  followed. 

So  I  watched  him,  feeling  there  might  be  danger  in 
the  man,  and  I  tried  to  make  him  take  up  a  bit  of  sport, 
so  as  to  mingle  with  other  men,  and  not  lead  such  a  sol- 
itary life.  And  I  went  out  of  my  way  to  bring  him 
acquainted  with  Jack  Tonkin,  an  open-hearted  sort  of 
chap,  strong  where  Ned  was  weak. 

Of  course,  they  knew  one  another  well  enough,  for 
Jack  was  a  rockman  at  the  quarries,  and  under  Treby's 
orders  at  any  time;  but  outside  the  works  they  seldom 
met,  though  next  door  neighbours,  and  I  felt  that  with 
a  little  skill  they  might  be  brought  together  and  become 
friends,  as  men  so  different  in  character  often  will. 

I  thought  to  myself  that  sandy,  silent  Ned,  with  the 
grey  eyes  and  white  eyelashes  and  cold,  clever  voice, 
might  get  a  little  heat  and  heart  from  the  red-faced, 
black -haired  Jack,  who  had  the  nature  of  a  nice  dog, 
and  took  every  man,  woman  and  child  for  his  friend  as  a 
matter  of  course.  And  I  also  reckoned  that  if  Treby 
won  a  little  milk  of  human  kindness  from  Tonkin,  Tonkin 
in  his  turn  might  get  a  bit  of  wisdom  from  Ned. 
Because,  with  his  genial  disposition  and  trustful 
character.  Tonkin  hadn't  more  sense  than,  please  God, 
he    should    have.     He    suffered    from    a    fiery    temper 


THE  REVOLVER  133 

that  threatened  danger  sometimes,  though  'twas  always 
gone  Hke  a  thunderstorm  the  next  minute,  and  no  man 
was  quicker  to  beg  pardon  for  wrong  done  than  him. 

Well,  I  figured  it  out  that  these  two  might  work 
each  other  a  power  of  good,  and  to  this  day  I  won't 
admit  that  I  was  mistaken.  If  Jack  had  tempted  Treby 
to  play  cricket,  or  try  his  hand  at  a  bit  of  wrestling  or 
shooting,  and  if  Ned  had  been  interested  enough  in 
Jack  to  give  him  some  advice  and  enlarge  his  opinions, 
and  make  him  more  broad-minded,  much  good  might 
have  happened  to  both. 

In  fact,  I  believe  the  good  was  in  sight,  and  Treby 
had  gone  so  far  one  spring  as  to  say  he'd  join  the  cricket 
club,  when  the  trouble  began.  Then,  from  standing 
on  the  brink  of  friendship,  as  you  might  say,  the  men 
became  fierce  enemies.  They  both  got  interested  in  a 
girl  at  the  same  time,  and,  as  the  devil's  own  luck 
would  have  it,  she  was  the  same  girl.  Little  Philippa 
Bunt  —  sexton  Bunt's  grandchild  she  was  —  an  orphan 
who  came  to  keep  house  for  sexton  after  his  wife 
died.  A  very  nice  lass  no  doubt,  and  the  men  both  took 
a  liking  to  her  at  the  same  time,  so  all  my  cleverness  was 
wasted. 

II 

For  with  two  such  strong  characters  in  their  different 
waj^s,  it  was  quite  impossible  that  any  friendship  could 
hold  between  'em  under  those  circumstances,  and  just 
as  I  began  boasting  to  my  wife  what  a  clever  thing 
I'd  done,  and  how  Ned  Treby  and  Jack  Tonkin  would 
live  to  thank  me  some  day,  if  the  trouble  didn't  begin. 


134.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

And,  of  course,  my  wife  knew  all  about  it  long  before 
I  did. 

"  'Twill  take  a  pearter  chap  than  you  to  make  them 
men  friends,  for  they'll  be  biting  enemies  before  har- 
vest," says  Emma,  my  wife,  to  me.  And  when  I  asked 
her  why  for,  she  explained  her  meaning.  "  It's  like 
this,"  she  said.  "  We  women  know,  if  3^ou  men  do  not, 
that  Treby's  been  after  little  Philippa  Bunt  ever  since 
she  came  here.  And  he's  not  the  man  to  take  '  No  '  for 
an  answer,  neither.  He  didn't  get  up  to  be  quarry  fore- 
man at  his  age  without  something  beliind  it.  He's 
clever  and  he's  crafty,  and  he's  very  much  in  love  —  so 
there  you  are." 

"What  then.?"  I  asked  her.  "Why  not.?  And 
what's  that  got  to  do  with  Jack  Tonkin,  anyhow.?  " 

"  Only  this,"  she  answered.  "  Coming  up  along  from 
Silver  Thimble  Farm  two  nights  agone  in  the  dimpsy 
light,  I  over-got  a  pair  of  lovers  mooning  side  by  side, 
and  dead  to  the  world,  as  lovers  will  be.  'Twas  by  the 
short  cut  nigh  Dead  Horse  Hole  —  you  know  —  and  I 
was  going  past,  not  recking  who  they  might  be,  when 
both  of  'em  gave  me  good-evening.  And  Philippa  was 
one  and  Jacky  Tonkin  t'other !     So  there  you  have  it." 

"  To  think,"  I  said,  "  that  a  girl  barely  wife-old 
should  be  carrying  on  with  two  men  at  her  tender  age !  " 

"  She's  that  sort,"  declared  my  Emma.  "  Wlien  you 
get  them  slim  maidens,  so  quick-eared  and  quick-eyed 
as  a  mouse,  with  full  lips  that  move  and  twinkle  to  their 
thoughts,  and  pretty,  si}',  sleepy  eyes,  same  as  Philippa 
have  got,  then  you  can  take  it  that  men  interest  'em 
more  than  any  created  thing.     And  they  interest  men, 


THE  REVOLVER  135 

because  nothin's  so  lightning  quick  as  a  man  to  answer 
that  sort  of  signal.  Now,  with  the  plump,  slow-moving, 
nice-minded  maidens  like  our  Jenny,  or  Sarah  'tis  dif- 
ferent. JNIen  be  only  just  a  detail  of  life  to  them  —  not 
everything.  Not  that  I'm  saying  a  word  against  old 
Bunt's  grandchild.  She's  quite  right  to  take  her  time, 
and  taste  both  of  'em  before  she  takes  either.  For  her 
peace  and  happiness  I'd  advise  Jacky,  but  if  she  wants 
to  go  up  in  the  world  and  be  a  lady  some  day,  then  the 
sandy  one's  most  like  to  suit  her." 

"  'Twill  be  a  nice  choice,  and  I  hope  she'll  choose 
well,"  I  said :  "  and,  whichever  she  chooses,  her  husband 
will  have  an  enemy,  I'm  afraid.  But  the  difference  is 
that,  if  Ned  Treby  loses  her,  he'U  never  forgive;  but 
if  Jack  does,  he'll  rage  like  the  sea  for  a  bit,  but  he'll 
get  over  it  before  a  month  of  Sundays." 

"  'Tis  for  her  to  decide,  and  I  hope  the  beaten  chap 
will  be  reasonable,"  said  my  wife. 

A  very  good  wish,  too,  but  vain  as  it  proved,  for  the 
men  soon  found  out  what  had  happened,  and  were  at 
each  other's  throats  in  no  time.  In  fact,  Ned  met 
Philippa  sitting  down  by  the  sea  at  Trebarwith  with 
Tonkin,  and,  not  a  week  after,  when  he  was  up  over 
Brown  Willhayes  wa}',  rabbit  shooting  with  some  friends 
on  the  moors.  Jack  came  across  the  girl  and  the  fore- 
man taking  a  long  walk  together  of  a  Saturday  after- 
noon. 

No  doubt  they  both  put  it  very  straight  to  her,  and 
no  doubt  she  was  quite  equal  to  'em,  being  that  sort 
of  girl.  Then  my  wife,  knowing  the  young  thing  had 
no   women   to    advise   her,    talked   with   Philippa,    and 


136  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

warned  her  that  'twas  playing  with  fire  to  keep  two  such 
men  running  after  her  at  one  and  the  same  time. 

"  If  you  once  get  a  name  for  philandering,  my  dear, 
you'll  end  by  keeping  that  name  —  as  well  as  your  own," 
says  Emma.  "  Love  is  love,  and  a  parlous  invention  at 
best,  and  if  there's  two  men  love  you  —  want  you,  as  all 
the  church-town  knows  —  then  don't  try  playing  off  one 
against  the  other,  or  anything  like  that,  for  you're  far 
too  young  for  them  May  games." 

Philippa  looked  up  under  her  black  eyebrows,  and 
smiled  a  smile  that  would  soften  a  flint. 

"  I'm  not  up  to  no  May  games,  Mrs.  Lobb,"  she  said. 
"  I  like  Ned  and  I  like  Jack,  and  I'm  just  going  on  in  a 
very  quiet  and  proper  way  till  I  see  which  I  like  best. 
And  I  tell  'em  I  won't  be  hurried.  They've  both  got 
their  good  points,  and  their  bad  ones,  I  reckon ;  and  if 
I  could  have  one  to  work  for  me  and  t'other  to  play  for 
me,  I'd  take  both." 

And  her  only  just  eighteen ! 

My  wife  gave  her  all  the  law  and  the  prophets  after 
that,  and  warned  her  that  such  shameful  ideas  very  ill 
became  the  daughter  of  a  parish  clerk  and  the  grand- 
daughter of  a  sexton.  For  she  was  Church  of  England, 
I  must  tell  you,  and,  as  it  came  out  after,  that  was  one 
of  the  things  that  most  inclined  the  girl  to  Ned  Treby. 
Because,  with  his  easy  opinions,  he  said  that  after  they 
were  married,  she  might  worship  where  she  liked,  and 
he'd  never  trouble  her;  whereas  Jack  Tonkin  was  a 
Wesleyan  to  the  marrow  in  his  bones  and  a  tower  of 
strength  in  the  choir.  And  he  always  declared  to 
Philippa  'twould  be  an  unkind  thing  of  a  Sunday  if  she 


THE  REVOLVER  137 

was  to  go  to  pray  to  God  in  one  place  while  he  done  the 
same  in  another.  She  granted  that  in  the  end,  I  believe, 
and  told  the  man  it  shouldn't  come  between  them,  and 
that  she'd  say  her  prayers  where  he  pleased.  And  she 
also  told  him  that  religion  weren't  her  strongest  point, 
whether  or  no,  and  that  if  ever  she  loved  a  man  with  a 
proper  fierce  and  fiery  love,  she'd  pray  to  any  god  he 
fancied  —  or  the  devil  if  he  liked  that  better.  Which 
shook  up  Tonkin  quite  a  good  bit,  no  doubt. 

Well,  this  queer  tale  be  about  what  happened  after 
Philippa  made  up  her  mind,  not  what  went  before.  We 
were  mildly  interested  to  see  which  it  would  be  and  some 
said  that  with  a  girl  like  this  —  a  proper  changeling,  so 
to  sa}',  and  packed  full  of  cleverness,  but  quite  different 
from  most  St.  Tid  girls  —  she'd  end  by  flinging  over 
both  men.  But  some  again  doubted  not  that  like  would 
go  to  like,  and  that  Ned,  with  his  fine  prospects  and 
money  in  the  bank  and  outrageous  opinions,  would  most 
attract  her.  For  they  thought  that  such  a  girl  might 
find  a  straightforward,  sporting  character  as  Jack 
too  much  like  all  other  fine  fellows,  without  quite  enough 
spice  of  mischief  and  lawlessness  and  novelty  to  suit 
her. 

But,  of  course,  everybody  was  wrong,  and  with  a 
creature  like  Philippa  you  might  be  sure  they  would  be. 
She  took  Jack,  and  in  twenty-four  hours  the  men  had 
their  first  bitter  row  over  it.  And  a  bloodstained  row, 
too.  They  lived  side  by  side,  and  had  long  been  in 
and  out  of  each  other's  houses  any  time  morning  or 
night,  thanks  to  the  friendship  I  was  working  up  be- 
tween 'em ;  and  on  the  day  that  Jack  gave  out  at  the 


138  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

quarries  he'd  got  tokened  to  Philippa  Bunt,  Treby 
stood  in  wait  for  him  at  his  own  door,  and  insulted  him 
before  the  people,  and  told  him  it  never  should  be,  and 
a  lot  of  other  bare-faced  things.  Cold  as  a  snake  he 
was,  though  red-hot  inside,  no  doubt ;  but  the  upshot 
came  to  blows,  and  they  fought  there  and  then,  and 
though  Tonkin  was  the  stronger  and  heavier  man,  such 
was  the  fury  of  Ned  in  that  hour  that  he  beat  t'other 
cruel  about  the  head,  and  finally  knocked  him  out  with  a 
right  cross  on  the  jaw.  A  few  looked  on,  and  Arthur 
Treby  tried  all  he  kneAv  to  stop  his  brother;  but  Tonkin 
wouldn't  have  that.  He  bade  no  man  interfere,  and 
none  did ;  though  one  chap  • — •  Amos  Hawke  it  was  — 
had  sense  enough  to  come  to  the  police-station  for  me. 
I  was  there  under  five  minutes ;  but  by  that  time  Jack 
had  been  knocked  out  and  Ned  was  gone  into  his  own 
home. 

Tonkin  soon  came  to  his  senses,  and  I  felt  sorry  I 
had  stopped  to  see  him  do  so,  for  he  uttered  a  lot  of 
very  rash  and  reckless  threats  against  t'other  man  — 
such  things  as  a  chap  does  say  when  he's  got  a  rare 
good  hiding  and  hasn't  deserved  it.  I  bade  him  shut  up 
at  last,  and  took  him  in  his  house  to  his  aunt ;  and  we 
cleaned  him  up  and  reasoned  with  him.  But  it  looked 
only  too  sure  he'd  break  the  peace  at  the  first  oppor- 
tunity and  get  a  bit  of  his  own  back. 

Three  days  later,  however,  a  strange  thing  happened, 
for  he  met  Treby  in  the  street  and  kept  his  temper,  and 
asked  the  foreman  if  he'd  fight  him  again  man  to  man, 
fair  and  open,  with  fists  or  gloves,  which  he  liked;  and 


THE  REVOLVER  139 

Ned  said  he  was  sorry  for  what  he'd  done  in  a  temper, 
and  made  a  frank  and  honourable  apology. 

"  'Twas  only  the  devil  helped  me  to  lick  you,"  he  said. 
"  You  understand,  I  hope,  that  mj-^  life's  ruined.  But 
that  ain't  your  fault,  John  Tonkin.  And  I'm  sorry  for 
what  I've  done.     And  I  want  peace." 

Well,  seeing  he'd  won  Philippa,  Jack  couldn't  very 
well  do  more  to  the  other  man.  He'd  have  dearly  liked 
to  fight  again,  but  as  Treby  gave  him  best  and  wouldn't 
take  him  on,  there  was  nothing  more  for  a  good  chapel 
member  to  do  but  forgive  him,  and  let  it  go  at  that. 
Which  Tonkin  did  do,  in  a  large  and  friendly  spirit; 
though  behind  the  scenes  he  wasn't  so  amiable,  and  a 
good  few  could  testify  afterwards,  including  Retallack, 
at  the  Grey  Horses,  and  Polwarn,  at  the  Green  Man, 
that  Tonkin  said  it  wasn't  a  fair  thing,  and  he'd  dearly 
like  to  let  the  coward  know  what  it  felt  like  to  be  ham- 
mered and  knocked  out.  Then  bad  blood  was  made  by 
others,  and  the  position  grew  very  dangerous  in  my 
opinion,  for  Ned  got  at  Philippa  again,  and  tried  all 
he  knew  to  make  her  change  her  mind,  and  said  many 
foul  things  against  Tonkin  to  her.  But  she  was  already 
feared  at  what  had  happened,  and  kept  straight  enough, 
and  was  true  to  Jack.  At  last  the  girl  grew  in  fear  of 
her  life  from  the  foreman,  for  I  believe  he  went  a  bit 
queer  in  his  brain  at  this  time,  and  haunted  Philippa, 
and  threatened  her  with  all  manner  of  fearful  things  if 
she  didn't  marry  him.  The  men  had  another  row  in  the 
Grey  Horses  a  fortnight  later,  and  it  took  half  the 
chaps   in   the  bar   to  keep  'em   apart.     Then,  when   I 


140  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

expected  every  day  to  get  an  ugly  job  and  was  just 
going  to  take  m}'^  wife's  advice  and  talk  to  the  manager 
of  the  quarries  about  it,  the  knot  was  cut  in  a  very 
mysterious  manner,  and  Ned  Treby  suddenly  disap- 
peared from  St.  Tid. 


Ill 


Of  course  that  was  where  I  came  in,  though  I'm  bound 
to  say  nothing  that  I  could  do  threw  much  light  on  the 
case. 

For  it  was  a  very  strange  event,  and  on  inquiry  it 
looked  as  though  Ned  hadn't  planned  to  go  or  made 
any  arrangements  for  so  doing. 

Arthur  Treby  brought  me  the  news  —  him  and  his 
mother.  They  came  to  the  station  at  an  early  hour, 
and  said  as  the  foreman's  bed  hadn't  been  pressed  that 
night.  For  when  his  mother  called  him,  just  afore  six, 
he  made  no  answer,  not  being  there,  and  'twas  clear  he 
hadn't  been  home.  I  asked  how  it  was  they  didn't  know 
he  was  missing  the  night  afore,  and  the  distracted 
woman  explained. 

"  We  never  sit  up  for  him,"  she  said.  "  Of  late, 
since  his  trouble,  he's  took  to  wandering  about  of  a 
night,  and  comes  home  at  all  hours.  Arthur  was  last 
in  yesterday,  wasn't  you,  Arthur?  " 

"  I  was,"  replied  Ned's  brother.  "  I  came  in  some- 
where about  ten  o'clock,  or  a  thought  after,  and  seeing 
Ned  wasn't  home,  I  left  the  door  unlocked  for  him. 
But  ho  never  came  back." 

I  asked  'cm  when  he'd  been  last  seen,  and  they  said 


THE  REVOLVER  141 

after  his  tea.  Then  he  was  down  in  the  garden  digging 
for  a  bit,  and,  by  the  same  token,  his  mother  was  glad, 
for  it  looked  as  if  he  was  getting  back  his  peace  of  mind 
and  taking  to  his  old  ways. 

I  made  inquiries  round  about,  but  not  a  soul  appeared 
to  know  anything  of  Treby,  and  none  had  seen  him  the 
night  afore.  He  hadn't  been  to  any  of  the  drinking 
shops,  neither.  At  the  quarries  all  was  right,  and  liis 
books  in  perfect  order,  and  at  Bolitho's  Bank,  where  he 
kept  his  money,  they'd  not  seen  him  and  nothing  had 
been  took  out.  So  'twas  clear  he'd  not  gone  of  his  own 
free  will,  and,  for  my  part,  I  reckoned  he  hadn't  gone 
far.  I  figured  it  out  in  my  policeman  mind  to  my  wife, 
for  Emma's  a  good  listener,  and  more  than  that.  She'll 
often  come  by  a  short  cut  to  a  point  where  the  man's 
brain  goes  step  by  step,  and  though  short  cuts  ain't 
much  good  to  a  constable,  and  slow  and  sure  is  best, 
yet  my  wife  often  sees  daylight  afore  I  do,  and  I  never 
deny  her  the  credit  of  a  witty  thought,  you  may  be 
sure. 

"  'Tis  one  of  two  things,"  I  argued.  "  Either  the 
man's  met  with  an  accident,  or  else  he's  done  away  with 
himself.  If  'tis  an  accident,  he'll  be  found,  and  if  he's 
took  his  life,  he  may  be  found ;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  may  not.  For  my  part,  I  believe  he's  done  himself 
in.      But  time  will  show." 

Emma  didn't  agree,  however. 

"  He's  not  that  sort,"  she  said ;  "  too  strong-minded. 
He  wouldn't  throw  up  the  sponge  and  leave  Tonkin  and 
that  girl  to  be  happy  ever  afterwards.  If  he'd  reached 
such  a  fearful  pitch  of  mind  that  he  didn't  want  to  live 


142  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

no  more,  be  sure  he'd  see  that  Jack  Tonkin  didn't  live 
neither  —  nor  yet  the  girl." 

"  I've  never  had  a  murder  and  suicide,"  I  said. 
"  Murder,  yes,  and  suicide,  yes ;  but  never  the  two 
together.  However,  Jack's  all  right,  and  so's  his  sweet- 
heart." 

Good  search  was  made,  and  no  stone  left  unturned 
for  five  miles  round  about.  But  not  a  clue  offered. 
The  man  was  spirited  from  our  midst,  as  it  seemed,  and 
we  at  the  station  soon  heard  the  usual  silly  questions 
as  to  what  we  were  there  for,  and  how  we  thought  we 
earned  our  money. 

Then  Ned  Treby  was  found,  and  though  I  didn't  find 
him,  'twas  my  own  youngest  daughter,  Betty,  that  did. 

She  was  blackberrying  along  with  a  few  other  little 
girls  on  the  seaward  slope  above  Trebarwith  Strand, 
and  working  up  nigh  Dead  Horse  Hole,  as  the  deserted 
quarries  were  called,  she  sat  to  rest  a  bit  on  a  fence  that 
ran  round  the  pit,  to  keep  the  sheep  and  cattle  from 
falling  in.  On  one  side  the  place  was  steep  and  fell 
sheer  to  the  water  in  the  hole,  and  'twas  up  there  our 
Betty  was  got ;  but  on  the  other  side,  though  the  fall 
to  the  water  might  have  been  twenty'  feet,  all  lay  open 
—  a  place  of  broken  slate  —  along  the  edge  of  the  pit. 
A  lonely  spot  it  was,  favoured  by  lovers  and  hemmed  in 
by  stunted  trees  that  rose  above  the  surrounding 
tliickets.  And  then  my  little  girl  saw  what  nearly 
made  her  jump  off  the  fence  into  the  dark  water  down 
under,  for  there  was  a  human  floating  there,  face  up- 
ward. In  fact,  little  more  than  his  head  was  to  be  seen, 
and  he  'peared  to  be  looking  up  at  her  out  of  the  pool. 


THE  REVOLVER  143 

Betty  went  cold,  but  she  was  a  policeman's  daughter, 
and  a  very  intelligent  child.  And  I  gave  her  full 
praise  for  Avhat  she  done  that  day,  and  so  did  St.  Tid 
when  it  came  to  be  known.  Not  a  word  she  said,  but 
called  t'other  little  things  and  led  'em  away  from  Dead 
Horse  Hole  up  the  liill ;  and  she  kept  dumb  about  what 
she'd  seen.  But  when  she  got  home,  she  was  white  as 
a  dog's  tooth,  poor  little  tibby  lamb,  and  hardly  had 
wind  to  tell  us  the  ugly  thing  she'd  seen. 

I  doubted  little  who  'twas,  and,  though  cruel  sorry 
for  all  concerned,  had  to  pat  myself  on  the  back,  because 
it  was  very  clear  to  all  understanding  people  that  I'd 
been  right,  and  that  poor  Treby  had  took  his  life. 

After  dark  we  went  over  —  me  and  two  other  men 
and  the  doctor.  For  I  went  to  him  first,  and  he  was 
greatly  interested  and  glad  to  come.  A  cart  we  bor- 
rowed at  Treholne  Farm,  up  top  of  the  hill,  and  Farmer 
Northey  came  along  with  us.  Then  we  got  to  the  place 
—  under  the  hunter's  moon,  it  was,  and  very  near  so 
light  as  day. 

And  there  was  the  poor  chap,  who'd  risen  to  the  sur- 
face in  the  course  of  nature,  and  without  any  great 
trouble  we  flung  a  rope  over  him  and  fetched  him  in. 
'Twas  Ned,  sure  enough,  and  his  dead  eyes  were  more 
at  peace  and  his  wliite  face  better  content  than  ever 
I'd  seen  'em  while  he  lived. 

We  got  him  back,  and  took  him  to  the  shed  where 
Dr.  Mason  kept  his  motor-car.  And  there  we  left  him 
for  the  doctor  to  make  his  examination.  Then  I  went 
off  to  report  the  news  of  the  find,  and  I  was  writing  my 
notes  to  headquarters  and  the  coroner  when  Dr.  Mason 


144  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

came  round.  'Twas  very  near  one  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  and  I'd  just  done  my  job.  And  doctor  ap- 
peared to  be  more  excited  than  he'd  been  yet,  and  puffed 
at  his  pipe  Hke  a  furnace. 

"  Don't  be  in  no  hurry,  Lobb,"  he  said.  "  There's 
more  in  this  business  than  3^ou  thought." 

"  No,  there  ain't,  sir,"  I  answered.  "  I  ahvays  fore- 
told the  man  had  committed  suicide,  or  met  with  an 
accident,  and  so  it  has  fallen  out." 

"  Depends  what  you  call  an  accident,"  he  answered. 
"  If  to  be  murdered  is  to  meet  with  an  accident,  then 
3'ou're  right." 

"  Murdered,  doctor!  "  I  cried  out. 

And  with  that  he  brought  a  pill-box  from  liis  pocket. 

"  Ned  Treby  wasn't  drowned,"  he  said.  "  He  was 
shot  through  the  heart,  and  that's  the  bullet  that  shot 
him.      You'd  better  take  charge  of  it." 

He  gave  me  a  small,  round  bullet  —  revolver  size. 


IV 


I  doubt  not  many  men  would  have  got  terrible  excited 
before  such  a  come-along-of-it  —  but  I  can  say  that  I 
didn't  turn  a  hair.  There's  an  instinct  in  policemen  to 
doubt  the  opinion  of  everybody  else  at  a  crisis,  for  bit- 
ter experience  shows  'em  how  mistaken  people  usually 
are  when  anything  out  of  the  common  happens.  So  my 
first  feeling  was  that  I  might  be  right  after  all,  and  that 
'twas  no  murder  3'et. 

We  kept  it  quiet  for  the  moment,  to  give  me  time 


THE  REVOLVER  145 

to  ask  some  questions,  and  at  cocklight  next  day  I  went 
to  poor  Mrs.  Treby  and  broke  the  sad  news.  Touching 
the  bullet  in  Ned's  heart  I  said  nought,  however,  but 
I  had  a  talk  with  the  family,  and  inquired  in  a  general 
way  if  he'd  got  firearms,  or  was  known  to  have  a  re- 
volver, or  pistol,  or  any  such  thing. 

"  Never,"  said  his  mother ;  "  he  hated  any  sudden 
noise  like  that,  and  often  asked  Jack  Tonkin  how  he 
could  be  such  a  shotsman  as  he  was.  For  Tonkin's 
always  firing  at  sometliing,  if  it's  only  at  the  small 
birds,  and  often  he'd  blaze  away  in  his  garden  suddenly, 
and  Ned  used  to  jump  and  cuss  him  when  he  did." 

I  knew,  of  course,  that  Tonkin  was  a  famous  shots- 
man  with  firearms  for  all  occasions,  but  I  little  liked  to 
hear  it  now.  In  fact,  a  dark  fear  was  growing  in  my 
mind,  and  I  had  hoped  that  my  visit  to  the  Trebys  might 
bring  that  fear  to  nought.  Far  from  it,  however,  and 
I  found  my  manhood  shrink  from  what  my  duty  now 
demanded.  That  was  to  call  in  on  Tonkin  before  he 
went  to  work,  and  also  before  he  knew  we'd  found  the 
dead  man  in  the  water. 

Both  he  and  Philippa  had  taken  the  disappearance  of 
Ned  in  a  very  thankful  spirit,  and  neither  pretended 
they  were  sorry  he'd  gone.  And  neither  knew  anything 
whatever  about  him,  though  I'd  questioned  'em  pretty 
close,  and  now,  in  the  early  morning  after  the  find,  it 
was  certain  that  Tonkin  hadn't  heard  about  it  yet, 
though  he  would  know  as  soon  as  he  got  to  the  quarries. 

He  was  having  his  breakfast  when  I  called  at  six 
o'clock,  and  I  went  in  hope  that  my  gathering  fears 


146  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

against  him  might  prove  vain.  But  I  came  away  with 
them  sadly  increased,  and  faced  with  the  most  painful 
task  my  business  had  ever  set  me. 

You  might  say  I  was  astonished  at  my  own  cleverness 
that  morning,  and  I'm  very  sure  all  Scotland  Yard 
couldn't  have  gone  to  work  more  skilful  with  Tonkin. 
Nor  yet  half  so  witty  as  me,  for  that  matter,  because 
I  knew  the  man  and  his  ways,  and  was  able  to  put  all 
manner  of  natural  questions  without  wakening  his 
suspicions. 

At  first  I  had  to  give  a  reason  for  coming. 

"  Morning,  Jack !  "  I  said.  "  I  wanted  to  catch  you 
afore  you  went  to  work,  if  I  could.  And  I'm  wishful 
to  borrow  your  revolver  and  a  handful  of  cartridges, 
if  I  may.  My  service  revolver's  out  of  order,  and  I'm 
giving  a  lesson  to  the  constables  in  the  use  of  small 
arms,  so  you'll  be  doing  me  a  service  if  you  can  lend  the 
machine  to  me." 

"  Willingly  !  "  he  said. 

"  And  3^ou'll  be  crowning  your  kindness  if  you  come 
round  yourself  one  evening,"  I  added.  "  A  tip  or  two 
from  you  would  be  a  godsend  to  the  men,  for  you're 
the  best  revolver  shot  in  the  county  —  so  they  say." 

He  was  pleased  at  that,  and  we  talked  a  bit,  and  he 
touched  on  Ned  Treby,  and  said  how  oft,  in  their 
friendly  days,  Ned  had  wondered  at  Jack's  love  for 
firearms  and  his  sporting  passion  for  slaying  all  furred 
and  feathered  creatures. 

"  A  curious  man  he  was,"  declared  Tonkin ;  "  I'd  give 
a  month's  screw  to  know  what  he's  done  with  hisself." 

"  I  wonder  if  fear  of  you  helped  to  send  him  off.''  " 


THE  REVOLVER  14*7 

I  said,  in  a  casual  sort  of  voice.  "  Sometimes  I've 
thought  the  warnings  you  gave  out  and  the  threatenings 
and  slaughters  you  breathed  against  him  got  on  his 
nerves  at  last,  and  made  liim  cut  and  run  for  fear  of 
trouble." 

But  Tonkin  laughed  at  that. 

"  He  was  going  to  do  quite  as  awful  things  to  me  as  I 
was  to  him,  for  that  matter,"  he  said.  "  But  he  didn't 
fright  me  and  I  didn't  fright  him.  He  frighted  my  girl, 
however,  and  'twas  that  kept  my  anger  hot  against  the 
man.  He  was  a  beastly  coward  —  cunning  as  a  snake 
at  meeting  Philippa,  and  he  so  worked  on  her  that  lat- 
terly she  was  almost  afraid  to  be  alone  after  dark.  She 
even  wanted  me  to  take  my  revolver  sometimes,  for  fear 
he  migh't  lie  in  wait  to  do  us  a  mischief." 

"  But  you  never  did,  I  should  hope?  "  I  said. 

"  Not  me !  I  never  feared  him,  and  at  worst  he 
wasn't  so  mad  as  to  have  done  anytliing  like  that,  poor 
devil.  But  he's  spoiled  a  good  deal  of  my  courting, 
I  may  tell  3'ou,  and  since  the  night  he  disappeared 
Pliilippa  Bunt  won't  go  out  after  dark.  She's  got  a 
creepy  feeling  he's  not  far  off,  but  just  hid  like  a  tiger 
near  at  hand,  and  only  waiting  his  time  to  spring.  The 
very  night  he  went  she  was  in  great  fear,  and  that  for 
no  apparent  reason.  We  met  at  Dead  Horse  Hole  — 
you  know  —  a  wisht  place,  but  not  if  3'ou've  got  the 
company  of  your  girl.  And  she  was  all  nerves,  poor 
toad.  She'd  come  up  from  her  cousin's  house  at  Tre- 
barwith,  and  I  was  waiting  for  her  at  the  Hole;  and 
even  with  my  arm  round  her  she  wouldn't  stop  there. 
An  owl  hooted  from  the  woods,  and  Philippa  very  near 


148  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

fainted.  We've  never  been  there  again.  She  couldn't 
explain  it,  neither,  but  just  said  she'd  got  a  sudden  chill 
of  fear  into  her  bones.  And  yet  she'd  never  known  the 
meaning  of  fear  till  then,  and  had  been  up  past  that 
place  a  score  of  times  after  dark.  That  was  before 
■we  knew  Ned  was  missing,  too." 

"  Some  folks  have  got  a  second  sense,"  I  told  Tonkin. 
"  They  can't  explain  it,  nor  yet  put  a  name  to  it,  but 
they've  got  it.  They'll  see  things  we  common  men 
can't  see,  and  feel  far  more  than  we  can  feel.  No  doubt 
she's  got  that  gift,  and  had  a  foretoken  of  coming  ill." 

We  talked  a  little  longer,  and  my  heart  was  heavy  as 
lead,  and  yet  I  hoped  against  hope  that  what  looked 
so  black  might  prove  to  have  no  bottom. 

"  I'll  keep  you  no  more.  Give  me  the  revolver  and 
I'll  be  off,"  I  said. 

Whereupon  Tonkin  rose  from  his  meal  and  went  over 
to  a  chest  of  drawers  —  one  of  them  bureaus  with  brass 
handles  of  old-fashioned  make  —  a  terrible  ancient 
thing,  in  fact,  and  said  to  be  worth  money,  though  none 
had  ever  offered  Tonkin  money  for  it.  He  pulled  open 
the  bottom  drawer  and  put  in  his  hand,  expecting  ap- 
parently to  find  the  weapon.  But  it  weren't  there,  and 
he  frowned  and  looked  puzzled. 

"  Who  the  mischief — "  he  began;  and  then  he  broke 
off.  "  I  swear  it  was  there  a  week  ago,"  he  said,  "  for 
I  had  it  out,  and  was  blazing  away  to  keep  my  hand 
in  at  some  of  those  little  paper  targets." 

"  Lots  of  ammunition,  anyway,"  I  said,  for  the 
drawer  was  half  full. 

He  thought  a  minute,  with  his  lips  pursed  up  hard. 


THE  REVOLVER  14<9 

"  Have  any  one  borrowed  it?  "  I  asked;  but  he  shook 
his  head. 

"  It  may  be  in  the  pocket  of  a  coat  overstairs,  and 
that's  the  only  place  it  can  be,"  he  answered ;  "  and  if 
not  there,  then  heaven  knows  where  it  is." 

He  went  to  seek  it ;  and  his  aunt,  with  whom  he  lived, 
talked  to  me.  But  afore  that,  and  unseen  by  her,  I'd 
put  a  couple  of  cartridges  in  my  pocket.  For  that  was 
all  I  wanted,  and  as  valuable  to  me  as  the  revolver 
itself.  Of  course.  Master  Jack  didn't  find  his  weapon, 
and  I  reckoned  at  that  moment  I  knew  as  well  as  he 
knew  where  it  lay,  and  that  was  at  the  bottom  of  Dead 
Horse  Hole. 

He  came  down  house  in  three  minutes,  bothered-like ; 
and  I  took  my  leave  and  said  it  didn't  matter,  and  that 
I  hoped  he'd  find  it,  because  such  a  thing  was  worth 
monev,  and  might  also  be  a  danger  in  unskilled  hands. 

He  was  perfectW  frank  and  open  throughout  this 
talk,  and  never  betrayed  by  a  look,  or  a  change  of  col- 
our, or  a  falter  of  voice,  that  he  was  fretted,  or  that  I 
had  took  him  on  to  dangerous  ground.  Yet,  so  far  as 
I  could  see,  thus  far  he'd  woven  a  good  strand  of  rope 
for  his  own  neck,  for  he  admitted  without  a  thought 
that  he'd  been  at  Dead  Horse  Hole  on  the  night  of 
Treby's  disappearance,  before  his  girl  came  to  him,  and 
he  admitted  that  his  revolver  was  gone  from  its  place. 

Half  an  hour  later  I'd  proved  the  bullet  that  killed 
Ned  was  the  same  bore  as  those  in  Jack's  revolver, 
and  I  felt  that  on  such  circumstantial  evidence  there 
was  only  one  thing  left  to  do.  Which  I  did  do.  I  went 
up  over  to  ]\Ir.  Mark  Fox,  who  was  in  residence  at  the 


150  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

time  and  a  Justice  of  the  Peace,  and  I  got  a  warrant 
for  Tonkin's  arrest,  and  took  him  at  his  own  home  in 
the  dinner-hour.  I  dare  say  some  officers  would  have 
arrested  him  at  his  work,  afore  the  whole  five  hundred 
men  and  boys  in  St.  Tid's  quarries,  but  I  couldn't  do 
that.  I  just  popped  in  while  the  village  was  indoors 
at  dinner,  and  he  went  over  all  dazed  and  came  away 
as  quiet  as  a  lamb,  and  few  knew  till  nightfall  that  he 
was  locked  up. 

The  same  evening,  when,  of  course,  the  murder  was 
out,  young  Philippa  ran  into  the  police-station,  fairly 
tearing  her  hair,  and  demanding  to  be  locked  up  also. 
She  said  she'd  been  along  with  Jack  that  night,  and 
must  share  what  danger  and  blame  attached  to  him. 
But  I  calmed  her  down  and  sent  her  home.  I'd  got  my 
ideas  about  her,  you  may  be  sure,  by  now ;  but  she 
wasn't  going  to  run  away,  and  I  felt  for  the  minute  that 
she  might  be  safer  loose  than  locked  up.  I'd  have 
staked  my  life  she  knew  something,  but  I  couldn't  yet  be 
sure  how  much  she  knew,  or  how  deep  she  was  in  it  her- 
self. 

V 

Jack  vowed  he  was  innocent,  and  most  people  believed 
him,  despite  the  evidence.  Anyway,  the  coroner's  jury 
brought  it  in  "  Murder  by  person  or  persons  unknown," 
and  Tonkin  was  committed  to  the  assizes  at  Bodmin. 
Meantime  there  came  an  order  from  the  Home  Office 
to  pump  out  Dead  Horse  Hole,  and  it  was  done  at  the 
cost  of  thirty-three  pounds  to  the  State.  And,  sure 
enough.    Jack's    revolver,   loaded   but   with   one   barrel 


THE  REVOLVER  151 

fired,  came  to  light  at  the  bottom.  But  notliing  else 
of  any  account  turned  up,  save  the  bones  of  a  sheep. 
There'd  alwa3fs  been  a  story  in  St.  Tid  that  there  was 
some  huge  fish  in  the  hole,  but  there  were  not. 

When  the  case  against  Tonkin  was  prepared,  we  had 
evidence  all  pointing  one  way,  while  liis  character  and 
record  and  family  history  all  pointed  the  other.     On 
the  one  side  was  Ned  Treby  in  his  grave,  and  the  fact 
that  Jack  had  been  heard  to  threaten  him,  and  the  fact 
that  Jack's  revolver  had  done  the  fatal  deed,  and  the 
fact  that  Tonkin  had  admitted  being  beside  Dead  Horse 
Hole  on  the  very  night  that  Treby  lost  his  life.     And 
against  that  we  had  his  fame  as  a  good  sportsman,  and 
a  good  chapel  member,  and  a  steady  and  honest  worker 
at  the  quarries.     As  for  Philippa,  it  seemed  pretty  clear 
she  had  no  hand  in  it,  after  all,  for  it  couldn't  be  proved 
what  she  knew  and  what  she  didn't.     W^e  knew  when 
she  left  her  cousin  at  Trebarwith  on  the  fatal  night, 
and  when  she  got  home  to  her  grandfather,  and  between 
those  times  she  had  met  Jack  by  the  pool,  according 
to    appointment.     What    she    said    was    that    she    felt 
creepy  and  down-daunted  on  the  night  in  question,  and 
had  made  Jack  come  away  from  the  pool  because  an 
old  owl  was  hooting  there,  and  she  couldn't  stand  it  no 
more,    even    with    him    beside    her.      She    swore    they 
weren't  there  ten  minutes  before  they  came  away,  and 
that  they  saw  no  sign  of  anybody  there. 

'Twas  notliing  but  surprises  to  the  end,  and  in  the 
sequel  the  most  amazing  thing  of  all  happened  in  the 
court-house  to  Bodmin,  after  Tonkin  was  convicted. 
For,  in  due  course,  the  judge  and  jury,  as  didn't  know 


152  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

anything  about  Jack's  private  character,  took  the  face 
value  of  the  facts,  and  no  doubt  asked  themselves  very 
naturally  that  if  Tonkin  hadn't  shot  Treby,  who  had? 
'Tis  true  that  Jack's  lawyer  showed  Ned  might  have 
gone  into  Jack's  house  easily  and  got  the  revolver  out 
of  his  drawer,  and  none  be  the  wiser,  and  that  he  might 
have  shot  himself  in  such  a  way  as  to  make  it  seem 
that  Jack  had  done  it;  but  a  jury  of  common-sense  men 
reckoned  that  idea  was  too  far-fetched  altogether,  and 
so  the3^  brought  in  Tonkin  guilty,  with  a  strong  recom- 
mendation to  mercy.  And  the  judge  had  said  that  the 
recommendation  should  go  to  the  proper  quarter,  and 
he  had  gone  so  far  as  to  pick  up  the  black  cap  as  a 
dreadful  first  step  to  the  death  sentence,  when  the  court 
was  flung  upside  down  and  everybody  thro\\Ti  into  a 
proper  tantara. 

For  who  should  jump  up  in  the  well  of  the  court  but 
young  Arthur  Treby !  So  wild  as  a  hawk  the  youth 
looked,  and  he  shouted: 

"  I  must  be  heard,  your  Honour !  'Tis  all  wrong ; 
Jack  never  done  it,  and  he  mustn't  swing  for  it !  " 

Well,  you  may  guess  what  a  business  it  was  after 
that,  and,  in  all  my  experience,  I  ncAer  saw  no  such  scene 
in  a  court  of  law  before  or  since.  There  was  the  judge, 
calm  and  patient,  and  his  pulse  not  going  a  beat 
quicker,  and  the  lawyers  all  on  end,  and  the  jury  star- 
ing at  the  boy,  and  the  people  humming  like  a  hive  of 
hornets,  and  young  Arthur,  white  to  his  eyes,  standing 
panting  in  the  midst. 

"Who  are  you.-^  "  asked  the  judge,  when  the  clerk 
had  quelled  the  people. 


THE  REVOLVER  153 

"  The  brother  of  the  dead  man,  j^our  Honour." 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  forward  before  if  you  knew 
anything  about  this?  " 

"  I'd  ordained  to  say  nought  if  Tonkin  got  off,  but 
seeing  you  be  intent  to  hang  him,  I  must  speak." 

'Twas  ver}^  irregular,  of  course,  but  no  man  utters 
sentence  of  death  against  his  fellow-man  if  he  can  avoid 
it  in  a  Christian  land.  His  lordship  considered  for  a 
bit,  then  he  bade  young  Arthur  go  up  in  the  witness- 
box. 

"  If,  however,  you  would  rather  speak  in  private  to 
me,  you  may  do  so,"  said  the  judge. 

But  Arthur  weren't  feared  of  the  people,  and  he  went 
in  the  box  gladly  and  told  his  tale  in  scraps  and  bits. 
But  it  hung  together,  and  had  the  solemn  stamp  of 
truth  upon  it,  and  the  upshot  of  his  speech  was  this. 

On  the  day  before  Ned's  death,  Arthur  surprised  him 
with  Tonkin's  revolver.  'Twas  clear  he'd  gone  in  at  a 
time  when  Jack's  house-place  was  empty,  and  had  taken 
the  revolver  out  of  the  drawer.  He'd  been  very  wild 
and  strange  for  a  good  bit,  and  Arthur  strove  with  him 
and  begged  him  to  give  up  the  weapon,  fearing  he  meant 
to  kill  himself.  On  that  Ned  had  said  to  him  that 
'twasn't  for  himself  he'd  borrowed  it. 

"  Don't  you  fear  I'm  going  to  shoot  myself,"  he  said 
to  his  brother,  "  but  'tis  that  blackguard  thief  and  that 
foul  girl  I  be  going  to  shoot !  They  shan't  live  a  day 
longer.  Tomorrow  night  they  meet,  where  I  know,  and 
they'll  meet  for  the  last  time,  so  sure  as  I'm  a  living 
man !     And  if  you  whisper  a  word  you'll  die,  too !  " 

That  was  the  awful  fix  young  Arthur  found  himself 


154.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TLD 

in,  and,  instead  of  running  to  me  while  there  was  time, 
he  hoped  his  brother  was  only  talking  nonsense  to  fright 
him;  and,  for  Ned's  credit  and  the  family  name,  he 
kept  silent  and  took  the  matter  into  his  own  weak  hands. 
He  tried  next  day  to  get  Ned  into  another  frame  of 
mind,  and  he  swore  to  the  judge  that  he  never  lost  sight 
of  his  brother  through  that  day,  and  went  on  his  knees 
to  him  to  give  up  the  revolver  and  forget  the  awful 
things  that  he  planned  to  do.  And  at  last  Ned  turned 
on  him,  and  said  that  if  he  named  the  matter  again,  he'd 
put  daylight  into  him  also.  And  Arthur  feared  that 
he'd  took  leave  of  liis  senses.  So  when,  after  their  eve- 
ning meal,  Arthur  was  just  going  into  Tonkin's  house 
to  give  up  his  fearful  secret  and  warn  liim  to  keep  at 
home,  then,  in  the  very  same  minute,  his  brother  went 
forth  and  sped  up  the  village.  The  boy  found  Jack 
was  out,  too,  and  guessing  that  Ned  was  going  to  his 
black  work,  he  ran  after  him  and  kept  him  in  sight. 

Arthur  couldn't  tell  the  judge  how  his  brother  had 
got  to  know  that  Jack  and  Philippa  were  to  meet  that 
night  by  Dead  Horse  Hole,  but  evidently  the  man  did 
know,  for  there  he  went,  with  Arthur  behind  him.  The 
younger  stole  along  over  the  stiles  and  down  the  field 
paths,  and  finally  saw  Ned  go  in  the  bushes  by  the  pool 
and  lie  in  wait  there.  And  then  Arthur  guessed  the 
lovers  would  come  along  pretty  soon  to  their  doom, 
and  he  swore  that  this  is  what  happened. 

It  was  borae  in  upon  him  that  the  revolver  was  the 
vital  thing,  and  that  bloodshed  might  yet  be  saved  and 
his  brother  preserved  from  murder  and  the  man  and  the 
girl  from  death  if  he  could  but  get  the  weapon  away 


THE  REVOLVER  166 

from  Ned.  He  was  very  near  so  big  and  strong  as  the 
other,  and  it  entered  his  mind  that  by  a  sudden  dash  he 
might  do  the  trick  and  wrench  the  revolver  away. 
Once  it  was  in  his  hands,  the  other  Avould  be  harmless 
and  powerless  to  commit  his  crime,  and  Arthur  would 
save  'em  all. 

So  the  brave  young  fellow  came  sauntering  along, 
and  pretended  to  be  terrible  surprised  to  see  Ned ;  and 
all  of  a  sudden,  before  Treby  guessed  what  he  was  up 
to,  he  closed  with  him  and  grabbed  for  the  revolver. 
They  fought  for  half  a  minute  like  two  wild  cats,  and 
then,  with  all  their  four  hands  on  the  revolver,  the  thing 
went  off,  and  there  was  only  one  man  there.  For  Ned 
got  shot  through  liis  heart,  and  standing  where  they 
did,  on  the  brink  of  the  hole,  he  fell  back  and  fell  in. 
The  poor  boy,  shocked  out  of  his  life  very  near,  climbed 
down  to  the  water's  edge  as  close  as  he  dared,  but  the 
face  of  the  pool  was  soon  still.  His  brother  had  sunk, 
so  Arthur  knew  he  must  certainly  be  dead.  He  poked 
about  as  well  as  he  could,  and  very  near  fell  in  himself; 
and  then,  just  after  he'd  crawled  up  again,  and  was 
sitting  shivering  above  and  calling  on  God  to  help  him, 
he  heard  Jack  Tonkin  whistling  a  merry  tune  as  he 
came  along,  and  he  got  in  among  the  bushes  and  bided 
there  till  Philippa  had  come.  He  testified  they  stopped 
but  a  short  time,  and  soon  went  away  together.  Then 
he  got  home,  and  went  to  l)ed,  and  he  kept  his  fearful 
secret,  and  never  opened  his  mouth  again  till  Jack 
Tonkin  was  going  to  be  sentenced  to  death. 

Of  course,  one  could  see  where  the  lad  went  wrong, 
and  the  terrible  mistakes  he  made,  and  all  he  ought  to 


156  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

have  done ;  but  that's  what  he  had  done,  according  to 
his  3'outh  and  ignorance,  and  his  story  was  generally 
taken  for  truth. 

The  court  rose  after  Arthur's  tale,  and  he  was  kept 
in  custody  and  locked  up  till  the  next  da}'.  And  then 
Tonkin  and  him  were  both  brought  up  again  and  set 
free,  and  the  hidden  ways  of  God  made  clear  to  man 
for  once.  Because  nobody  could  declare  but  what  the 
right  thing  hadn't  happened,  and  not  a  law  was  broken, 
you  might  say,  which  is  always  a  great  satisfaction  to 
tlic  well-trained  human  conscience.  For  Ned  hadn't 
committed  suicide,  and  he  hadn't  committed  murder, 
and  the  lovers  were  proved  innocent  without  a  stain  on 
their  characters ;  and  Arthur,  poor  lad,  had  done  what 
he  thought  to  be  right,  and,  in  fact,  was  a  hero  to  some 
people. 

As  for  the  dead  man,  he'd  merely  met  with  a  fatal 
accident,  as  a  result  of  probably  falling  weak  in  liis 
head ;  and,  anyway,  he'd  gone  to  a  world  where  his 
frantic  thoughts  and  intentions  would  be  understood, 
and  where  the  faulty  blood  in  his  veins  would  no  doubt 
be  taken  into  account  to  lessen  his  sin  and  sentence. 
For  I'm  ver}'  sure,  and  so's  my  wife,  that  though  little 
care  is  given  to  a  man's  father  and  grandfather  when 
he  comes  before  the  majesty  of  the  law,  yet  such  things 
carry  their  value  afore  the  Throne  of  Grace,  and  crimes 
are  weighed  up  aloft  in  nicer  scales  than  human  justice 
knows,  even  at  County  Assizes.  For  the  All-seeing  Eye 
will  look  deeper  than  human  evidence,  and  not  only 
search  the  secrets  of  men's  hearts,  but  the  blood  that 
beats  in  'em. 


"THE  GREEN  MAN"  AND  "THE 
TIGER" 

Considering  how  wonderful  few  public-houses  we  could 
number  at  St.  Tid,  it  seemed  a  curious  thing  that  two 
of  'em  should  stand  exactly  opposite  each  other;  but 
so  they  did,  and  as  Quarry  Lane,  where  they  happened 
to  be,  was  a  narrow  sort  of  street,  their  signs  very  near 
made  an  arch  over  the  heads  of  the  passers-by  and  there 
wasn't  six  feet  of  room  between  'em.  And  one  was 
"  The  Tiger  "  and  the  other  was  "  The  Green  Man  " ; 
and  as  a  green  man  be  a  gamekeeper,  it  seemed  as  if  the 
hunter  on  one  sign  was  after  the  beast  of  prey  on  the 
other.  The  same  sign-writer  had  done  both,  and  still 
they  swayed  when  the  wind  blew  north  and  found 
Quarry  Lane ;  but  they'd  gone  pretty  dark  from  age, 
and  you  couldn't  see  much  of  the  green  man  but  his 
face,  which  was  a  shade  lighter  than  the  rest ;  while  as 
for  the  tiger,  you  might  mark  his  yellow  stripes  if  \'ou 
knew  where  to  look  for  him,  but  the  rest  of  him  was 
pretty  well  gone  with  grime  and  blackness. 

Indeed,  the  master  at  "  The  Green  Man  "  and  the 
misses  at  "  The  Tiger  "  were  quite  agreed  they  must 
have  their  signs  painted  again  when  one  clever  enough 
to  do  it  should  come  along,  though,  as  Matthew  Pol- 
warn  truly  said,  neither  his  house  nor  Mrs.  Nute's 
wanted  advertisement,  for  both  was  well  enough  known 
by  the  high  character  of  its  refreshment  and  the  good 

157 


168  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

quality  of  its  company.  There  was  no  rivalry  but 
quite  the  opposite,  for  Nancy  Nute's  husband  had  been 
a  life-long  friend  to  Pohvarn,  and  he  wore  black  for 
him  when  he  died;  while  as  for  Nancy  herself,  it  was 
believed  she  was  a  sort  of  relation  of  Polwarn's,  because 
before  marriage  she'd  been  a  Trecarrow,  and  everybody 
knows  that  Trecarrows  and  Polwarns  were  always  re- 
lated somehow,  if  you  could  trace  'em  far  enough  back. 

Near  of  an  age  they  must  have  been,  and  Matt  was 
on  the  sixty  mark,  or  thereabout,  and  Nancy  Nute 
might  have  been  a  year  or  two  more,  though  on  her 
good  days  she'd  often  seem  to  be  a  bit  less.  They  was 
both  very  well  thought  of,  though  I  never  heard  that 
anj'body  set  a  higher  value  on  them  than  they  did 
themselves ;  but  they  had  a  right  to  be  satisfied,  for  they 
prospered  and  won  credit  for  honesty  and  good  will 
and  good  sense. 

And  each  inn  boasted  its  own  strong  point.  "  The 
Tiger  "  was  famed  for  a  very  fine  garden  full  of  flowers, 
with  such  hollyhocks  as  are  seldom  seen  in  the  border, 
and  a  mulberry  tree,  which  is  a  very  rare  fruit-bearer 
in  Cornwall,  and  a  fine  swing  for  the  children.  Because 
for  ninepcncc  at  "  The  Tiger  "  3'ou  could  get  a  tea 
with  cream  and  j  am  and  cake ;  and  in  summer  time, 
when  holiday  folk  was  about  pleasuring  at  Trebai-with 
Strand  and  Tintagel  and  so  on,  scores  of  dozens  would 
come  to  tea  at  INIrs.  Nute's,  and  no  man,  woman  or 
child  was  ever  heard  to  grumble  at  what  she  gave  them. 
Then,  over  the  way,  "  The  Green  Man  "  was  popular 
for  sterner  victuals,  and  men  favoured  it  and  travellers 
could  be  put  up  there  and  their  horses  and  traps  like- 


"THE  GREEN  MAN"  AND  "TIGER"      159 

wise.  Matthew  Polwarn  had  a  wonderful  stable-yard 
and  a  wonderful  stable-boy  in  the  shape  of  old  Billy 
Inch.  And  behind  the  house  there  was  a  garden,  too 
—  not  such  a  beautiful  place  as  Mrs.  Nute's  pleasure 
garden;  but  good  potato  ground  and  famous  for  its 
small  fruits.  In  fact  Polwam's  "  Golden  Drop " 
gooseberries  often  took  a  prize  at  the  flower  show,  and 
his  black  currants  did  amazing  well  also. 

A  very  busy,  prosperous  pair  you  might  say,  and 
each  thought  highly  of  the  other,  and  the  man  never 
hesitated  to  praise  the  woman  openly,  and  the  woman 
couldn't  say  enough  friendly  things  of  the  man.  They 
played  into  each  other's  hands  in  a  manner  of  speak- 
ing, and  when  customers  came  to  Nancy  who  seemed 
better  like  to  be  suited  by  Matthew,  to  him  she  sent 
'em ;  while  when  folk  trailed  into  "  The  Green  Man  " 
for  tea  and  light  refreshments  in  general,  Matthew 
would  often  bring  'em  across  the  road  to  "  The  Tiger," 
and  explain  that  they'd  be  a  lot  happier  in  Nancy's 
garden  than  his  bar  parlour. 

So  it  stood,  when  disquieting  things  fell  out,  and 
though  you'd  have  thought  no  power  was  ever  hatched 
to  make  them  two  people  uneasy,  or  shake  'em  from 
their  busy  and  bustling  existence,  yet  it  so  happened, 
and  owing  to  a  very  honest,  well-meaning  and  respect- 
able third  person,  the  spirit  of  adventure  woke  betwixt 
Matt  and  Nancy  and  thoughts  came  into  their  heads 
that  other^vise  would  never  have  found  room  there. 
Nor  was  it  rivalry,  nor  envy,  nor  any  distracting  evil 
of  that  sort,  but  quite  the  contrary.  The  new  ideas 
ran  upon  very  different  lines  and  pointed  to  a  great 


160  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

increase  of  friendship.  And,  of  course,  the  only  great 
increase  of  friendship  possible  in  a  Christian  land  be- 
tween a  bachelor  man  and  a  widow  must  lead  to  mat- 
rimony. But  certain  it  is  that  neither  Matthew  nor 
yet  i\Irs,  Nute  would  ever  have  let  their  minds  dwell 
upon  such  a  sensational  idea  if  chance  and  the  behav- 
iour of  a  third  party  had  not  opened  the  way  to  it. 

It  was  Bartholomew  Keat  M^ho,  all  unguessing, 
wrought  the  change.  He'd  been  potman  at  "  The 
Tiger  "  for  twenty-five  solid  3^ears  and  served  Nancy's 
husband  most  faithful,  and  continued  so  to  serve  her 
when  her  husband  died.  A  clean-shaved,  quiet  man, 
with  wonderful  nice  manners  and  a  kind  face  and  grey 
eyes,  as  small  as  they  were  sensible.  A  man  of  great 
good  sense  and  religion  also ;  and  though  accident  had 
made  him  a  potman,  he  was  teetotal  himself  and  had 
never  touched  a  drop  of  liquor  in  his  life.  So  quiet 
and  regular  was  he  that  he  was  undervalued  if  any- 
thing, and  Nancy  always  said  that  she  never  knew  what 
"  The  Tiger  "  would  be  without  him  till  it  happened 
his  uncle  died  up  the  country  and  Bart  asked  for  leave 
and  was  away  a  week  burying  the  man  and  settling  his 
affairs. 

They  say  his  mistress  very  near  kissed  him  when  he 
came  back  and  weren't  ashamed  to  tell  him  she  had 
missed  him  at  every  turn. 

"  I  never  did  understand  all  you  mean,  Bart,"  she 
said,  for  a  franker  creature  you  couldn't  meet.  "  You 
was  in  my  mind  every  minute  of  the  day  and  when  it 
come  to  night,  and  I  had  to  do  the  fifty  thousand  things 
you  do,  I  began  to  see  what  there  is  to  you.     And  tliis 


"  THE  GREEN  MAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      161 

I'll  say,  you  haven't  been  getting  enough  money  along 
with  me,  and  you'll  have  to  get  more." 

He  didn't  expect  nothing  like  that,  and  his  face 
flickered  up  a  bit,  for  he'd  sooner  have  had  a  word  of 
praise  from  Mrs.  Nute  than  anybody  alive.  The}^  was 
very  friendly  and  familiar  and  really  fond  of  each 
other;  and  he  knew  how  much,  but  she  didn't.  In  fact, 
as  it  came  out  after,  Bart  had  often  dreamed  dreams 
about  Nancy  and  wondered  if  the}^  would  ever  come  to- 
gether. And  he  confessed  to  her  when  the  murder  was 
out,  that  his  ambition  had  risen  by  night  to  the  highest 
flights  ;  but  by  day,  when  he  stood  before  her  once  more, 
his  hopes  would  sink  again  and  he'd  wonder  how  he 
dared,  even  under  cover  of  darkness,  to  harbour  such 
high  resolves.  In  a  word  he  loved  her,  and  there's  no 
doubt  that  Nancy  v/as  very  much  attached  to  him  and 
put  great  faith  in  liim ;  but  along  of  his  being  so  quiet 
and  modest  and  regular,  she'd  never  thought  of  him  as 
anything  different  from  her  potman  and  right-hand 
man.  Then  came  his  holiday  and  she  found,  much  to 
her  surprise,  what  a  big  part  of  the  machine  Bart  had 
become;  but  though  she  was  frank  enough  to  say  how 
she'd  missed  him,  she  couldn't  go  farther  and  confess 
that  it  weren't  only  for  what  he  did,  but  also  for  what 
he  was.  But  Keat's  uncle,  now  gone  to  rest,  had  left 
him  two  hundred  pounds  a  year  for  evermore;  and 
even  such  a  shy  and  humble  bird  as  Bart  felt  that  the 
case  was  altered  and  with  that  dollop  of  money  behind 
him  the  manly  thing  to  do  would  be  to  have  a  dash. 

It  took  him  a  bit  of  time  to  come  to  the  scratch  even 
then ;  but  at  last  he  spoke  and  did  it  in  his  usual  gentle 


162  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

way.  She  knew  by  many  signs  how  terrible  much  in 
earnest  he  was,  and  she  felt  more  than  a  thought  drawn 
to  him  and  understood  very  well  what  a  capital  and 
trustworthy  husband  the  man  would  make  for  her  au- 
tumn time.  Yet  her  pride  couldn't  quite  see  her  marry- 
ing her  potman.  She  was  a  woman  and  had  a  female 
bent  of  mind  about  things,  and  so  she  didn't  say  "  No  " 
and  didn't  say  "  Yes,"  but  thanked  him  for  offering  and 
said  she'd  think  it  over.  Whatever  she  said  must  mean 
a  great  change,  and  for  a  time  it  looked  the  least  of 
evils  to  keep  Keat  by  marrying  him ;  for,  of  course,  if 
she  said  "  No  "  to  the  man,  it  was  clear  he  couldn't  be 
her  right  hand  no  more,  but  must  leave  the  inn.  And 
her  heart  sank  at  the  thought  of  another  potman  at 
her  age. 

She  asked  for  a  week  to  consider  it  and  one  fine  day, 
unbeknown'st  to  Bart,  slipped  over  to  have  a  tell  along 
with  Matthew. 

"  Bartholomew  Keat  wants  to  marry  me,"  she  said, 
"  and  what  d'you  think  of  it?  " 

Well,  the  natural  instinct  at  such  times  is  to  advise 
against.  I  don't  know  for  why,  but  when  man  or 
woman  asks  a  fellow  creature  as  to  the  wisdom  of  wed- 
ding, they'll  always  pull  a  long  face  and  find  fifty  rea- 
sons why  not.  And  as  Matthew  took  the  common  view 
of  Bart  Keat  and  undervalued  him  a  lot,  just  because 
he  did  his  work  so  perfect  that  nobody  ever  noticed  it, 
he  advised  Nancy  to  put  the  idea  from  her  and  turn 
the  man  down. 

"  Good  powers  !  "  says  Matthew  Polwam.  "  A  sim- 
ple, everyday  chap  like  him  to  offer  for  you !     He  must 


"  THE  GREEN  MAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      163 

have  a  cheerful  conceit  of  liimself !  And  for  my  part 
I  should  look  to  see  people  of  much  greater  importance 
offering  for  you ;  and,  anyway,  why  can't  you  bide  as 
you  are?  Look  at  me,  I'm  right  enough  unmarried, 
and  with  all  you  can  say  for  the  state,  one  thing  you 
can  always  say  against  it,  and  that  is  it's  not  good  for 
business." 

There  was  no  argument  against  Keat  in  that,  of 
course,  and,  being  a  bachelor,  Matthew's  opinion  didn't 
carry  much  weight  with  Mrs.  Nute,  though  slie  greatly 
respected  his  judgment  on  general  questions;  but  he 
didn't  leave  it  there,  for  it  was  clear  she  had  put  a  lot 
of  new  ideas  into  liis  napper-case  by  her  question,  and 
that  very  same  evening  he  walked  into  her  house  and 
sat  in  her  garden  along  with  her  for  full  twenty  min- 
utes. And  the  sum  of  what  he  said  was  to  ask  her  not 
to  decide  about  Keat  till  he'd  seen  her  again. 

For,  to  be  frank,  the  sudden  reminder  that  Nancy 
Nute  was  a  comely  and  a  marriageable  woman  had 
acted  in  a  very  surprising  manner  on  the  mind  of  Mat- 
thew Polwarn,  and  though  until  then  the  notion  of 
offering  liis  heart  and  hand  had  never  occurred  to  him, 
when  suddenly  faced  with  the  thought  of  Nancy  mar- 
ried to  somebody  else,  he  found  the  idea  exceeding 
unpleasant.  In  fact  it  made  him  troubled,  and  so  he 
got  to  Mrs.  Nute  again  and  wouldn't  let  her  do  any- 
thing definite  about  Bart  until  she'd  given  Matthew 
himself  time  to  turn  over  the  unexpected  problem. 

Which  he  did  do,  and  after  a  lot  of  thinking,  he  came 
to  the  startling  conclusion  that  he  could  do  with  Nancy 
himself;  and  the  more  he  thought  upon  her,  the  more 


164.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

he  grew  to  feel  that  nobody  else  must  have  her  but  him. 
And  then  he  began  to  want  her  and  grew  more  and  more 
fierce  for  her,  so  that  the  next  time  they  met,  the  poor 
potman  weren't  so  much  as  mentioned,  and  Matthew 
fairly  swept  Nancy  off  her  feet. 

"  Since  you  think  of  getting  married,  then  it's  time  I 
stirred  myself,"  began  Mr.  Polwam,  "  and  as  I  ain't 
going  to  have  you  marrying  any  Dick,  Tom,  or  Harry 
that  be  daring  enough  to  lift  liis  eyes  to  you  and  cheeky 
enough  to  offer,  I  must  do  it  myself.  And  when  I  come 
to  think  of  the  great  feeling  I  have  towards  you,  Nancy, 
and  the  great  admiration  I've  always  felt  for  your 
judgment  and  good  sense  and  fine  appearance,  the  won- 
der is  I've  held  off  all  these  years  and  never  asked  you 
to  take  me.  But  one  good  result  is  that  no  time  need 
to  be  wasted.  We  know  each  other  well  and  haven't 
no  secret  from  each  other  and  have  been  good  friends 
for  a  quarter  of  a  century,  so  there  it  is.  And  if 
you've  got  half  the  opinion  of  me  that  I've  got  of  you, 
then  without  a  doubt  you'll  thank  3'our  God  to  hear 
what  I'm  saying  and  answer  according." 

He  put  it  like  that  in  his  downright  way  and  he 
wouldn't  let  Nancy  turn  it  over  in  her  mind  and  give 
him  his  answer  later.  In  fact,  when  she  suggested  so 
doing,  he  was  a  good  deal  hurt  and  gave  it  as  his  opin- 
ion that  any  hesitation  was  a  reflection  on  him. 

"  'Tis  no  case  for  beating  about  the  bush,"  he  said, 
"  and  you're  not  the  woman  I  take  you  for  if  you  can't 
make  up  your  mind  in  a  big  thing  as  quick  as  you  can 
in  a  small  one.  Keat  was  different.  You  had  to  let 
him  down  by  degrees  and  so  soften  the  blow;  but  in 


"THE  GREEN  MAN"  AND  "TIGER"      165 

my  case  things  have  long  been  between  us  of  a  very 
delicate  and  tender  nature,  even  though  we  didn't  know 
it,  and  looking  back  I  see  amazing  clear  that  we  were 
made  for  each  other  from  the  beginning  and  only  failed 
to  find  it  out  along  of  being  so  busy  and  hard-working. 
In  fact,  I  ain't  going  to  take  '  No  '  for  an  answer, 
Nancy,  so  you'll  be  wasting  your  wind  to  say  it.  I 
haven't  waited  sixty  years  to  hear  a  negative  from  a 
female  when  I  came  to  offer  for  her,  and  you  know  as 
well  as  I  do  that  we  should  be  exceeding  happy  together 
and  you'd  only  be  a  thought  less  fortunate  than  myself 
if  you  took  me." 

He  rattled  on,  and  Nancy,  who  was  a  mighty  lot 
flattered  by  the  offer,  felt  her  strength  of  will  fairly 
oozing  out  of  her  before  him.  And  indeed  she  couldn't 
see  any  reason  against  it  for  that  matter.  She  liked 
and  respected  the  man;  she  approved  of  his  forceful 
ways ;  and  she  didn't  see  any  reason  why  she  shouldn't 
love  him  if  he  invited  her  so  to  do. 

She  begged,  however,  rather  feeble  like,  for  time ; 
but  that  was  just  what  he  wouldn't  give  her,  and  so  it 
came  about,  most  strangely  I'm  sure,  that  within  less 
than  a  week  of  Bart  Keat's  offer  of  marriage,  Mrs.  Nute 
was  tokened  to  Matthew. 

And  in  sober  honesty  she  had  to  confess  to  her  friends 
that  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Bart's  proposal  she  never 
would  have  had  Matthew's. 

And  Matthew  didn't  deny  it. 

"  The  Lord  often  chooses  a  fool  to  light  the  road  of 
the  wise,"  he  declared,  "  and  I  shall  always  feel  kindly 
to  your  potman  for  showing  me  my  duty.     Not  that 


166  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Bart's  a  fool  by  any  means,  for  a  more  self-respecting 
man  3'ou  won't  find.  But  he  don't  move  on  our  level 
and  I'm  sure,  though  it  was  put  into  him  by  Providence 
to  ofl'er  for  3'OU,  he  was  only  used  as  a  humble  tool  to 
lift  you  to  higher  things." 

That's  what  Matthew  said,  and  without  a  doubt 
that's  what  he  believed. 

But  'tis  certain  Nancy  had  her  nice  feelings  like 
another,  and  when  Bart  came  to  hear  his  fate,  she  did 
suffer  above  a  bit  when  she  broke  to  the  man  that  she'd 
taken  somebody  else. 

"  But  you  must  understand  this,  Bart,"  she  said, 
"  if  it  had  been  any  lesser  man  than  Mr.  Polwarn,  I 
wouldn't  have  taken  him.  I  tliink  a  very  great  deal 
of  you  and,  for  your  comfort,  I  don't  mind  confessing 
that  I  was  much  inclined  towards  you;  but  when 
Matthew  offered  —  well,  you're  among  the  clever  ones 
and  I'm  sure  you'd  be  the  last  to  put  yourself  up 
against  a  man  of  his  position  and  fame.  Besides  which, 
he  was  my  husband's  life-long  friend.  And  though  it 
might  seem  strange  to  some  people,  I  feel  pretty  sure 
that  it  won't  seem  strange  to  you." 

Well,  Bart  took  it  lying  down,  as  we  say,  and 
whether  it  was  true  he  was  among  the  clever  ones  and 
looked  on  to  the  end  from  the  beginning,  or  simply 
happened  to  be  the  meek  and  mild  sort  that  are  bom 
for  other  folk  to  clean  their  boots  upon,  I  can't  say. 
An3'way  he  heard  the  widow  and  confessed  frankly  that 
he  couldn't  stand  up  against  such  a  rival  as  Matthew. 

"  All  I  can  say  is  that  since  it  had  to  be,  I  wish  he'd 
offered  sooner  and  not  led  me  into  this  terrible  mis- 


"  THE  GREEN  MAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      167 

fortune,"  said  Bart,  looking  very  long  in  the  jaw.  "  Of 
course  him  and  me  aren't  in  the  same  street,  Nancy, 
and  I  wouldn't  pretend  it,  for  none  would  be  deceived 
if  I  did.  But  I  tell  you  again  it  is  very  unfortunate  he 
left  it  till  I'd  been  tempted  to  offer.  For  if  he'd  spoke 
first,  I'd  have  held  my  peace  and  gone  on  my  wa}^  and 
stopped  here ;  but  now  it's'  all  over  and  the  course  of 
my  life  is  changed  and  I  shall  leave  St.  Tid,  though 
where  else  a  person  could  live  comfortably,  God 
knows." 

"  Don't  you  leave,  my  dear  man,"  urged  Nancy, 
glad  enough  he'd  took  it  so  gentle  and  never  liking  him 
better  than  at  that  moment.  "  St.  Tid  wouldn't  be 
St.  Tid  without  you  and  you've  always  been  a  true 
and  valued  friend  to  me  and  a  helpful  and  sensible  crea- 
ture, and  always  will  be.  And,  between  us,  I  don't  see 
no  reason  at  all  why  you  shouldn't  go  on  as  my  pot- 
man. I'll  even  go  further  than  that  and  say  I  don't 
see  why  you  shouldn't  marry  a  nice  woman  yourself 
and  bring  her  here,  if  you've  got  a  mind  to  it." 

"  There's  only  one  for  me  in  this  world,"  declared 
poor  Bart.  "  There  never  was  but  one  woman  for  me 
and  never  will  be ;  and  as  to  stopping  here,  I  might 
or  I  might  not,  for  I've  always  had  my  feelings  under 
very  nice  control  and  never  let  you  see  by  a  word  or  a 
sigh  what  I  had  in  my  mind.  But  you  won't  be  here 
yourself  much  longer  and  I  certainly  don't  serve  in 
'  The  Tiger  '  under  any  other  but  you.  In  fact,"  said 
Bart,  "  the  pub  could  only  be  a  deserted  wilderness 
without  you  to  my  way  of  feeling." 

It  would  have  been  a  very  cunning  speech  in  any  man 


168  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

but  Bart ;  but,  of  course,  a  simple  soul  like  him  meant 
nothing  by  it. 

Anyway,  he'd  given  her  something  to  think  over,  and 
her  face  grew  troubled  and  she  looked  into  his  little 
eyes  with  a  frown. 

"Me  gone!"  she  said.  "What  d'you  mean.'^  Me 
leave  this  house  after  thirty-four  years  ?  " 

"  No  doubt  your  first  would  turn  in  his  grave  if  you 
did,"  admitted  Bart,  sad  like;  "but  what  about  it.'' 
When  you're  mistress  of  '  The  Green  Man  ' —  well,  then 
you're  mistress  of  '  The  Green  Man  ' ;  and  you  can't  be 
in  two  places  at  once,  clever  as  you  are." 

She  didn't  say  no  more,  but  he'd  shook  her,  though  no 
doubt  he  didn't  know  it.  As  a  fact,  that  side  of  the 
future  hadn't  struck  on  Nancy.  She  was  so  excited 
at  the  change  and  the  prospects  of  being  wife  of 
Matthew,  that  she'd  forgot  a  good  bit  what  it  meant, 
and  though  there  was  the  splendour  of  being  his  wife 
and  so  on,  yet  against  that  rose  the  harsh  certainty 
that  she'd  have  to  play  second  for  the  rest  of  her  life, 
instead  of  being  first.  And  somehow  she'd  always 
regarded  "  The  Tiger  "  as  being  rather  a  higher-class 
establishment  than  "  The  Green  Man,"  along  of  the  tea- 
garden  and  pleasure  ground.  And  now,  turning  it 
over  she  began  to  feel  pretty  certain  that  Matthew 
wouldn't  be  of  her  opinion  on  that  subject. 

When  she  had  got  so  far,  Bart  poked  his  head  into 
her  little  private  room. 

He'd  only  come  for  a  bunch  of  keys,  which  she  gave 
him ;  but  before  he  went  out  again,  he  let  drop  one  very 
telling  remark.     It  didn't  seem  to  have  much  bearing 


"  THE  GREEN  MAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      169 

on  what  they'd  been  talking  about,  and  yet,  if  Bart 
hadn't  been  such  a  simple  man,  you'd  have  thought  he 
knew  exactly  what  was  in  her  mind  at  that  minute. 

All  he  said  was,  "  You  can't  have  anything  for  noth- 
ing, Nancy  —  not  in  this  weary  world."  Then  he  dis- 
appeared. 

Well,  doubt  in  a  situation  of  this  sort  seemed  more 
than  Mrs.  Nute  was  built  to  endure,  and  the  same 
evening,  when  Matthew  dropped  in  for  half  an  hour 
to  do  his  bit  of  courting,  she  came  to  it.  She  weren't 
too  hopeful  naturally  and  she  knew  he  must  have  his 
way  in  the  end ;  but  she  fell  back  upon  a  bit  of  bluff,  as 
women  will  when  they're  up  against  a  difficult  position. 
In  her  heart,  being  a  very  reasonable  and  sensible  crea- 
ture, she  knew  the  game  was  up  so  far  as  "  The  Tiger  " 
was  concerned,  because  you  can't  eat  your  cake  and 
have  it  both;  and  it  was  very  clear  she  couldn't  be  Mr. 
Polwam's  partner  and  reign  on  her  own  also ;  but 
she  put  out  a  feeler,  though  at  the  same  time  quite 
ready  to  climb  down.  However,  the  world  is  full  of 
surprises,  and  you  never  know  when  you  begin  talking 
where  the  gift  of  speech  will  land  you.  There's  a  sort 
of  people  who  only  like  to  talk  for  the  sake  of  argument 
and  if  you  say  twice  two  is  four  they  won't  let  it  rest  at 
that;  and  there's  another  sort  of  people  who  can't 
keep  their  eyes  on  a  conversation  and  their  own  temper 
at  the  same  time,  and  that  sort  think  if  you  don't 
agree  with  them,  you  mean  to  quarrel.  In  fact  the  art 
of  conversation  isn't  given  to  all  and  the  spirit  of  fair 
give  and  take  in  that  matter  is  much  rarer  than  we 
humans  would  like  to  believe,  or  than  it  ought  to  be. 


170  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  I  be  looking  on  ahead  a  good  bit,  my  dear,"  began 
Nancy.  "  This  is  a  great  upheaval  at  my  time  of  life, 
and  I'm  wondering  all  manner  of  things.  Will  you  be 
so  happy  and  comfortable  along  with  me  as  what  you 
are  over  there  at  '  The  Green  Man  '?  You  must  put 
that  to  yourself,  Matthew." 

That  was  her  bluff,  you  see  —  an  innocent  thing 
enough  —  and  if  he'd  seen  through  it,  and  just  laughed, 
and  answered  as  a  lo^ang  heart  in  a  male  bosom  ought, 
no  harm  could  have  happened ;  but  Matt,  with  all  liis 
virtues,  hadn't  much  sense  of  fun,  nor  yet  knowledge 
of  women.  So,  by  way  of  reply,  he  jumped  as  if  he'd 
sat  down  on  a  wasp  and  snorted  in  w^hat  j^ou  might 
call  a  very  contemptuous  fashion. 

"  Woman  comes  to  man,  I  believe,  not  man  to 
woman,"  he  said. 

"  That  is  so,  but  you  must  think  all  round  it,"  she 
answered,  with  a  touch  of  colour,  for  she  didn't  like 
his  contempt. 

He  laughed  now,  but  it  was  in  the  wrong  place,  so 
that  didn't  please  her  neither. 

"WHiere's  the  fun.?"  she  asked.  "I  thought,  of 
course,  that  you'd  be  business-like  as  well  as  lover-like 
and  see  '  The  Green  Man  '  had  got  less  to  it  and  was 
less  every  way  than  '  The  Tiger.'  " 

She  oughtn't  to  have  said  it,  but  she  did. 

"You  thought  that,  Nancy?"  he  asked,  too  aston- 
ished for  the  minute  to  be  vexed.  "  '  The  Green  Man  ' 
less  to  it  than  '  The  Tiger '.?  " 

*'  Surely.'* 


"  THE  GREEN  MAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      171 

"  Because  you  get  a  few  tea-parties  at  ninepence  a 
head  on  your  little  bit  of  grass?  " 

Well,  that  meant  the  gloves  off,  of  course. 

"  What  might  you  mean  by  my  '  little  bit  of  grass  ' 
then?     Not  the  best  garden  in  St.  Tid,  I  suppose?  " 

"  Be  damned !  "  he  said.  "  If  this  ain't  the  funniest 
thing  I've  ever  heard." 

"You  never  was  one  to  see  a  joke,"  she  answered, 
"  and  if  that's  the  funniest  thing  you  ever  heard,  you 
ain't  heard  many.  And  you'll  forgive  me,  Matthew,  if 
I  say  there's  nothing  funny  in  me  speaking  about  my 
garden,  though  it  do  sound  funny  to  hear  it  called  '  a 
bit  of  grass  *  by  a  man  that's  got  nothing  but  a  few 
apple  trees  past  bearing  and  a  strip  of  potatoes  and 
weeds  and  a  fowl  run.  But  as  you've  got  no  use  for  a 
garden,  perhaps  you'll  remember  the  inn  yard  and  how 
many  bosses  you  can  put  up,  and  how  many  I  can." 

"  It's  the  number  of  bosses  that  come,  not  the  number 
that  you  put  up,"  he  answered.  "  My  inn  yard  —  so 
terrible  small  no  doubt  to  your  eye  —  can  yet  hold  half 
a  dozen  vehicles ;  and  you'll  generally  find  'em  there, 
and  the  bosses  in  the  stalls." 

"  Half  a  dozen  I  You  know  better,  Matthew. 
'Twould  puzzle  you  to  get  in  four  market  carts.  And 
how  many  times  have  you  led  'em  into  ray  yard  —  and 
never  thanked  me  neither?  " 

Mr.  Polwam  was  getting  up  his  steam  by  now  and 
Mrs.  Nute  was  losing  her  temper. 

He  dropped  the  market  carts  and  came  to  the  point. 

"  And  did  you  reaUy  think  I  was  going  to  chuck 


172  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

'  The  Green  Man  '  and  coming  over  to  your  shop?  Did 
you  really  think  that,  Nancy?  That's  the  point  for 
the  minute." 

She  never  had,  of  course ;  but  she  weren't  going  to 
say  so  now.  She'd  rather  have  died  on  the  spot  than 
throw  up  the  sponge  after  what  he'd  said. 

"  You've  often  told  me  I  was  the  sensiblest  she  you 
ever  met  with,  Matthew,  and  being  so,  I  naturally 
thought  you'd  drop  your  bar-loafer's  place  and  come 
over  to  me  —  and  glad  to  come." 

"  Good  God !  "  said  Mr.  Polwam,  and  stared  at  her 
as  if  she  was  a  spider  dropped  in  his  glass  of  beer. 

I  think  Mrs.  Nute  felt  that  was  about  the  limit, 
and  she'd  said  enough,  if  not  too  much.  Anyway  she 
began  to  make  peace  from  that  point ;  though  it  weren't 
too  easy.  But  women  often  have  more  sense  of  propri- 
ety in  a  row  than  Avhat  men  have;  and  after  they've 
got  in  a  fatal  thrust,  they'll  soften  —  especially  if 
they  think  they've  won  the  battle  and  come  out  victor- 
ious. 

"  I'm  sorry,"  said  Nancy.  "  'Tis  a  shame  upon  us 
—  two  old  people  with  some  credit  for  sense  —  to  be 
dressing  one  another  down  like  this.  I'm  sorry, 
Matthew,  if  I've  hurt  your  feelings ;  but  'tis  your  fault, 
for  you  didn't  ought  to  have  scoffed  at  my  garden  and 
called  it  a  patch  of  grass.  It  may  seem  nought  to  you; 
but  it's  a  lot  to  me  —  my  life-blood,  you  might  say." 

"  You  needn't  apologise  now,"  he  answered. 
"  You've  opened  my  eyes  —  right  or  wrong.  '  A  bar- 
loafer's  place  '  is  '  The  Green  Man.'     Well,  well !     No 


"  THE  GREEN  MAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      173 

wonder  you  thought  I'd  come  and  live  along  with  you." 

"  I  didn't  really,"  she  confessed.  "  I  knew  very  well 
you  wouldn't;  but  I  had  to  say  it.  And  if  I'd  remem- 
bered that  a  joke  was  nought  to  you,  I  might  have 
thought  twice." 

"  I  laughed,  however,"  he  said. 

"  Yes ;  you  laughed.  And  a  proper  blood-curdling 
laugh  it  was." 

Then  Mr.  Pohvarn  got  up  to  take  his  leave. 

"  Well,  that  lets  me  out,"  he  replied  to  her.  "  We'd 
better  turn  this  over  in  a  prayerful  spirit ;  and  since 
you've  told  me  j^ou're  sorry  for  what  you  said,  I  won't 
be  beliind  you  and  I'll  say  that  I'm  sorry  for  what  I 
said  —  though  it  was  whips  to  your  scorpions." 

"  We'll  meet  again  in  a  week,"  said  Nancy. 

"  I  was  going  to  say  a  fortnight,"  he  answered,  and 
her  lips  tightened  and  her  eyes  grew  hard. 

"  Make  it  a  month,"  she  suggested. 

Then  he  began  to  feel  he  was  overdoing  his  indiffer- 
ence; but  he  didn't  mean  to  eat  no  more  humble  pie 
for  Nancy  that  evening,  and  so  he  agreed  they'd  take 
a  month  to  think  on  it. 

"  And  one  point  we'd  better  have  clear,"  he  said. 
"  If  you  marry  me,  you  come  to  '  The  Green  Man.' 
That's  my  last  word  on  that  subject." 

"  I'll  bear  it  in  mind,  Matthew." 

"  Bar-loafers  or  no  bar-loafers." 

"  Just  so.      Nothing  could  be  clearer,  I'm  sure." 

They  didn't  take  an  affectionate  leave  of  each  other, 
and  there's  no  doubt  their  hearts  were  very  full  about 


174»  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

it.  'Twas  six  of  her  and  half  a  dozen  of  him,  I  reckon, 
and  both  knew  they'd  been  wrong;  but  each  blamed 
the  other  most. 

Matthew  kept  his  mouth  shut  on  his  trouble,  for  he 
was  a  proud  man  and  he'd  have  suffered  much  rather 
than  confess  he'd  made  any  mistake  in  his  judgment  of 
Mrs.  Nute;  but  she  wasn't  proud;  and  she'd  got  Bart, 
of  course,  to  listen  to  her  adventures,  and  he  had  the 
art  to  say  the  word  in  season  and  calm  her  down. 

He  heard  the  tale,  and  to  Nancy's  credit  there's  no 
doubt  he  heard  it  truthfully  told;  for  she  didn't  ex- 
aggerate, and  she  didn't  hide  her  part  in  the  argument ; 
but  Mr.  Keat  entirely  supported  her  and  said  that,  in 
his  opinion,  such  a  self-respecting  woman  could  have 
done  and  said  no  less.  He  declared  that  Matthew  had 
brought  this  disaster  upon  liimself ;  and  he  feared  that 
his  action  and  impatience  showed  a  very  poor  under- 
standing of  female  nature  in  general  and  Nancy's  in 
particular. 

"  It  isn't  as  if  you  was  a  difficult  and  notorious  sort 
of  woman,"  explained  Bart ;  "  for  then  the  man  might 
have  sj'mpathy ;  but  for  a  man  to  misunderstand  you 
is  to  give  himself  away  and  show  he's  got  but  a  low 
order  of  brain;  because  you  always  speak  clearly  and 
you're  always  honest  and  straight,  and  your  word  is  as 
good  as  your  bond.  And,  for  my  part,  I  don't  see  at  all 
that  it  was  an  unfair  thing  to  do  to  ask  him  to  come  and 
live  with  you,  considering  what  a  remarkable  house 
this  is.  And  you've  got  a  perfect  right  to  consider 
'  The  Green  Man '  a  lower-class  public  than  *  The 
Tiger,'  and  to  speak  of  your  renowned  garden  as  *  a 


"  THE  GREEN  MAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      175 

patch  of  grass  '  was  very  far  from  a  gentlemanly  thing 
and,  if  it  weren't  such  a  wicked  falsehood,  you  might 
laugh  at  such  jealousy.  For  jealousy  no  doubt  it  is 
back  of  it." 

In  this  way  Bart  soothed  Mrs.  Nute,  and,  for  such  an 
ordinary  man,  his  choice  of  words  was  worthy  of  all 
praise.  She  went  so  far  as  to  ask  Bart  if  he'd  speak 
to  Matthew  for  her;  but  he  didn't  see  his  way  to 
that. 

"  No,"  he  said ;  "  there's  few  tilings  I  wouldn't  do 
for  you,  on  the  earth  or  on  the  waters  under  the  earth ; 
but  for  me  to  see  Mr.  Polwarn  on  such  a  sacred  subject 
is  out  of  the  question.  It's  far  too  delicate  a  matter," 
Bart  told  her;  "  and  you  must  always  remember  that 
at  the  present  time  I'm  suffering  myself  from  great  grief 
and  sorrow,  because  all  is  lost  for  me.  No,"  he  said, 
"  I'm  sure  in  a  calmer  moment  you'll  understand  that 
if  there's  one  man  in  the  world  can't  go  to  Matthew 
and  demand  reparation  on  your  account,  Nancy,  I'm 
that  man." 

Of  course  she  did  see  it. 

"  Be  honest,"  she  said.  "  I  think  a  very  great  deal 
of  you,  and  if  Matthew  dazzled  me  a  bit,  Bart,  that's 
only  to  say  I  was  weak  and  no  discredit  to  you.  And 
I  dare  say  your  calm  manner  and  good  temper  and  so 
on,  would  wear  better  in  the  long  run  than  his  overbear- 
ing way  and  cruel  self-conceit.  But  be  honest,  do  you 
tliink  '  The  Green  Man's  '  a  more  important  and  more 
famous  house  than  what  mine  is?  " 

"  This  house,"  declared  Bart,  "  have  got  the  natural 
advantages  and  Matthew  have  got  the  pull  in  the  matter 


176  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

of  capital.  ]\Iy  candid  opinion  is  that  if  '  The  Green 
Man  '  had  a  hundred  pounds  spending  on  it,  and  a 
brave  advertisement  to  the  hoHday  people  put  in  the 
newspapers  now  and  again,  that  in  six  months  we 
shouldn't  hear  no  more  about  '  The  Green  Man.' 
'Twould  as  good  as  vanish  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 
There's  not  the  exclusiveness,  nor  yet  the  class  there, 
and  never  was ;  and  we  all  know  when  gentlefolks  come 
to  St.  Tid  —  to  see  the  quarries  and  what  not  —  which 
house  they  bring  their  custom  to." 

In  another  man  this  would  have  been  craft  without 
a  doubt;  but  in  Bart  'twas  just  an  honest  opinion,  and 
Nancy  found  herself  entirely  of  his  mind. 

"  'Tis  amazing  how  we  think  alike,"  she  told  him ; 
and  he  went  on  to  say  that  if  she  hadn't  cast  his  offer 
aside  so  quick,  he  was  going  to  have  talked  about  a  bit 
of  outla}^  on  "  The  Tiger  "  from  his  windfall. 

"  This  place  be  my  life  in  a  manner  of  speaking," 
he  explained.  "  I  feel  so  much  part  of  it  as  the  front 
door,  Nancy,  and  my  first  thought,  when  uncle  died 
and  left  me  his  useful  bit  of  money,  was  your  public. 
Or  should  I  say  it  was  my  second  thought,  for  my  first 
was  you,  as  I've  made  clear." 

"  If  that  man  could  only  be  made  to  see  he's  wrong 
about  '  The  Tiger,'  "  said  Nancy,  "  I  should  have  a  bit 
more  peace  of  mind.  At  present  he  thinks  I'm  only 
a  silly  woman  and  my  goose  is  a  duck;  but  if  he  knew 
a  clear-seeing  man,  like  you,  felt  the  same,  it  might  open 
his  eyes." 

"  It  would  depend  a  good  deal  how  we  all  stood," 


"  THE  GREEN  ]\IAN  "  AND  "  TIGER  "      177 

answered  Bart.  "  I'm  not  clever,  but  I'm  clever  enough 
not  to  go  edging  in  between  husband  and  wife,  as  I 
suppose  it  will  soon  be ;  but  if  you  should  reach  a  point 
where  you  can  say  you're  free  to  the  nation  once  more 
and  not  bound  to  Matthew,  then,  if  you  was  to  give 
me  the  right,  I'd  very  soon  let  him  know  that  there's 
a  gulf  fixed  between  '  The  Green  Man  '  and  '  The  Tiger,' 
and  I'd  make  the  gulf  broader  in  a  week." 

"  I'll  turn  it  over,"  she  promised  him,  and  sure  enough 
she  did,  and  it  was  less  than  a  month,  after  all,  before 
she  and  Matthew  met  again;  for  she  walked  over  and 
spoke  with  him  inside  two  days.  They  had  a  very 
friendly  ten  minutes  too,  for  both  was  on  their  best 
behaviour  and  both  a  bit  ashamed  of  losing  their  tem- 
pers. And  as  they'd  come  to  exactly  the  same  conclu- 
sion, each  was  very  thankful  indeed  to  hear  what  the 
other  had  got  to  say. 

They  parted  the  best  of  friends ;  but  they  parted, 
and  it  was  understood  that  they  felt  sure  they'd  be 
happier  and  more  self-respecting  and  finer  ornaments 
of  society  altogether  if  they  didn't  wed,  but  just  kept 
on  —  good  neighbours,  as  before. 

And  Nancy  took  Bart  after  a  decent  interval ;  but 
the  interval  was  Bart's  own  idea  ;  and  though  he  hadn't 
the  wit  to  see  how  valuable  his  suggestion  really  was, 
it  worked  out  very  well  indeed  for  him,  because,  after 
six  months  had  passed,  Nancy  had  grown  quite  cool 
again,  and  entirely  forgiven  Matthew,  and  no  longer  felt 
any  wish  that  Bart  should  go  over  and  give  him  a  bit 
of  his  mind,  or  anything  uncomfortable  like  that.      So 


178  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

not  a  cloud  was  upon  the  marriage  and  Mr.  Polwam 
gave  Nancy  a  nice  present  of  crockery  when  the  time 
came. 

And  what's  more,  after  Bart  was  married,  he  put 
twice  a  hundred  pounds  into  "  The  Tiger "  and  also 
saw  he  got  his  money's  worth. 

You'll  not  find  a  happier  couple  of  middle-aged 
people  anywhere ;  and  though  now  and  again  I've  heard 
a  man  sa}^  that  Bart's  not  such  a  meek  and  mild 
customer  as  he  seems  to  be,  and  Nancy  knows  it  —  be 
sure  that's  only  a  little  bit  of  human  spite ;  for  there's 
many  people  in  the  world  who  can't  see  their  neighbours 
happy  and  prosperous  without  wanting  to  drop  vinegar 
in  the  oil. 


THE  LEGACY 

'TwAs  something  surprising  how  interested  the  Tonkin 
family  got  in  old  Miss  Sleep  after  she  had  her 
stroke.  Afore  that,  people  alwa3's  said  such  a  sparse, 
tough  old  creature  Avould  live  to  be  a  hundred  and 
one,  if  not  more ;  but  when,  like  a  bolt  from  the  blue, 
came  her  trouble,  and  she  woke  up  with  her  left  arm 
dead  as  a  stick  and  her  eyelid  down  and  her  speech  un- 
certain, then  the  Tonkin  people  were  up  and  at  her 
like  a  swarm  of  bees.  'Twas  "  poor,  dear  Aunt  Sarah," 
and  "  that  saint  of  God,  Aunt  Sarah,"  and  so  on ;  and 
if  chattering  and  calves'  foot  jelly  could  have  finished 
her,  out  she'd  have  gone.  But  she  was  a  proper  old 
bit  of  Cornish  oak,  Sarah  Sleep  was,  and,  stroke  or  no 
stroke,  I  reckon  she  saw  through  Milly  Tonkin  and  Jane 
and  Nettie,  her  daughters,  and  likewise  Amos  and  Spry, 
her  sons. 

But  there  was  one  who  didn't  see  through  'em,  natu- 
rally enough,  and  that  was  Lucinda  Parsons.  For 
Lucinda  was  tokened  to  Spry  Tonkin,  and  thought 
the  world  of  him  and  his  mother  and  his  sisters.  And 
she  liked  old  Sarah  ver}'  well  too ;  but  when  the  sick 
woman  in  her  thick,  broken  voice  poked  fun  at  Milly 
Tonkin  and  her  childer,  and  told  Lucinda  she  knew 
very  well  why  they  was  all  on  the  buzz,  little  Lucinda, 
who  believed  every  soul  on  earth  to  be  as  simple  and 
straightforward    as    herself,    wouldn't    credit    it    and 

179 


180  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

assured  the  ancient  woman  that  nobody  could  be  so  mean 
and  hateful  as  to  come  fussing  round  her  for  what  they 
might  get. 

"  We  all  know  you're  a  poor  woman,  because  you've 
said  so,"  declared  Lucinda,  "  and  I'm  sure,  even  if  they 
was  so  evil  inclined,  your  poor  sticks  wouldn't  make  'em 
pretend  they  cared  about  3'ou." 

"  They  think  I've  got  dollops  of  money,"  answered 
Sarah,  "  and  they  won't  believe  the  bitter  truth,  that 
I  lost  very  near  all  of  it  in  Cam  Brea  tin  mine  years 
and  years  agone." 

"  Of  course  they  believe  it,  my  old  dear;  for  whoever 
wouldn't  believe  you?  "  asked  Lucinda. 

"  Nobody  believes  nobody,"  answered  Miss  Sleep ; 
"  and  for  your  own  future  happiness  and  peace  of  mind 
I  wish  you  wasn't  so  trustful.  And  this  I'll  tell  you 
yet  once  more:  your  o\\ai  young  man,  Spry  Tonkin, 
is  the  worst  of  the  lot,  and  I'd  be  properly  glad  if  I 
lived  to  see  you  break  with  him,  for  then  I'd  say,  '  Lord, 
let  Thy  servant  depart  in  peace.'  " 

"  I'm  sure  you  didn't  ought  to  feel  such  things  against 
him,"  declared  Lucinda,  "  For  he's  the  straightest  man 
in  St.  Tid,  besides  the  best-looking;  and  never  was  such 
another." 

It  stood  like  this,  3'ou  see.  Lucinda  was  an  orphan 
and  Sarah  Sleep,  who'd  known  her  people,  took  Lucinda 
into  her  house  for  a  friend  and  semant  when  the  girl's 
mother  died.  And  Lucinda  got  ten  pounds  a  year  wages, 
and  Sarah  was  so  fond  of  her  that  sharp-eyed  people 
always  said  she'd  leave  her  all  as  she'd  got  to  leave. 
Some  declared,  as  Miss  Sleep  herself  did,  that  the  lot 


THE  LEGACY  181 

was  nothing  but  a  few  bits  of  worn-out  furniture ;  but 
others  hinted  at  a  useful  little  stock  of  monej^  hid  in  a 
stocking  somewhere.  Sarah  had  been  to  service  with 
the  Trelawnys  for  fifty  year  before  she  came  back  to 
her  birth-place,  and  knowing  the  close,  saving  sort  she 
was,  people  guessed  that  she  must  have  plenty  of  good 
money  put  by,  and  very  like  a  pension  too ;  but  she'd 
tell  some  that  she'd  lost  it  all  in  a  mine,  and  she'd  tell 
others  that  she'd  bought  an  annuity,  so  it  was  very 
vague  and  uncertain ;  and  while  some  believed  her,  some, 
including  her  cousins,  the  Tonkins,  did  not.  They  were 
her  next  of  kin  and,  though  she'd  snubbed  them  when 
first  she  came  to  St.  Tid,  now  she  was  down  and  like 
to  be  a  bed-lier  for  the  rest  of  her  days,  they  had  an- 
other go  at  her  and  tried  every  way  they  knew  to  win  her 
friendship.  In  fact  you  may  say  they  left  no  stone 
unturned  so  to  do,  and  it  looked  as  if  they  was  safe  for 
any  leavings,  whatever  happened,  because  Spry  Tonkin 
had  tinkered  up  to  Lucinda  and  made  her  properly  fond 
of  him,  so  his  mother  felt  that  come  what  might,  Sarah 
Sleep's  savings  —  if  there  were  any  —  would  stop  in  the 
family. 

Lucinda  was  a  bright-eyed  flaxen  thing,  cheerful  as 
a  sparrow  and  very  glad  to  be  alive.  A  good,  true  heart 
she  had  and  a  brave,  sensible  way  with  her;  but  she 
hadn't  more  sense  than  most  pretty  girls  of  eighteen, 
and  so,  when  Spry  Tonkin  came  along  in  his  masterful 
way  and  kept  company  for  a  bit,  and  then  actually 
offered  himself,  she  was  properly  dazzled  and  made  the 
mistake  of  her  life.  He  wasn't  right  down  bad  exactly, 
but  he  was  selfish  and  a  bit  shifty  in  his  mind,  though  he 


182  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

stood  well  at  the  slate  quarries,  where  he  worked,  and 
none  could  bring  any  charge  against  him.  He  went  to 
chapel  with  his  people  and  all  that;  and  so  far  as  he 
could  love  anybod}^  but  himself,  he  loved  Lucinda. 
But,  at  the  bottom  of  his  heart,  he  most  cei'tainly 
thought  she  was  luckier  than  him  and  had  got  a  very 
good  bargain  for  her  pretty  face  and  pretty  figure  and 
nice,  gentle  disposition.  He  knew  she'd  be  a  loving, 
true  wife ;  and  he  also  knew  he'd  have  the  whip  hand 
from  the  start  and  never  have  no  trouble  in  imposing 
his  will  and  his  ways  upon  her. 

All  of  which  Sarah  Sleep  marked  very  clearly,  and 
she  never  did  smile  upon  Spry  Tonkin  and  often  wished 
that  Lucinda  had  been  tokened  to  a  different  chap;  and 
that  different  chap  was  one  of  the  rock-men  at  St.  Tid 
quarry  —  a  young,  silent  fellow  with  black  hair  and 
brown  eyes  —  the  strongest  man  of  his  hands  that  ever 
comed  out  of  the  village  —  a  proper  giant  for  strength 
in  fact  and  well  set  up  with  it.  But  he  was  plain  and 
little  given  to  speech,  and  though  he'd  courted  Lucinda 
in  his  quiet  way  for  a  good  bit  —  ever  since  she  was  or- 
phaned, and  went  to  live  with  INIiss  Sleep  —  yet  he'd 
never  gone  so  far  as  to  offer  himself,  and  though  like 
enough  he'd  have  got  her  if  he'd  been  more  pushing, 
especially  since  Sarah  Sleep  was  on  his  side,  yet  he 
weren't  pushing  by  no  means,  and  when  Spry  Tonkin  — 
head-engineman  he  was  —  came  to  the  front  with  all 
his  fine  speeches  and  swagger,  little  Lucinda  went  down 
before  him  and  very  soon  lived  for  him  and  only  him. 

Stephen  Kellow,  the  other  man  was  called,  and  a  few 
older  people  knew  why  old  Sarah  liked  him;  for  his 


THE  LEGACY  183 

father,  in  the  far  past,  had  worked  for  the  Trelawnys 
and  been  their  coacliman,  and  the  only  romantic  affair 
in  Miss  Sleep's  life  happened  along  of  him.  It  was 
said,  in  fact,  that  he'd  offered  for  her,  and  some  thought 
she'd  actually  took  him  and  quarrelled  after.  But  at 
any  rate  Tom  Kellow  never  married  her,  for  he  took  the 
kitchen-maid  instead,  and  though  Sarah  forgave  him, 
she  never  forgot  him;  and  when  he  went  away  from 
service  and  lived  and  died  at  Lanteagle,  nigh  St.  Tid, 
Miss  Sleep  kept  her  eye  on  liim  to  the  last  and,  as  a 
widower,  he  was  on  pretty  friendly  terms  with  her 
before  he  dropped.  They  whispered  that  she  was  at 
liis  death-bed  and  closed  his  eyes,  but  that  was  only 
hearsay.  Anyway  she  always  showed  a  friendly  spirit 
to  his  two  boys,  Mike  and  Stephen,  who  both  worked  in 
St.  Tid.  So  when  Stephen  began  to  pay  attention 
to  Lucinda,  the  old  woman  helped  Iiim  all  she  could, 
and  when  Lucinda  fell  to  her  own  nephew.  Spry  Tonkin, 
she  was  sorry  and  didn't  hide  it.  She  couldn't  forbid 
the  match,  but  she  made  a  favour  of  one  thing  and 
asked  Lucinda,  for  consideration  for  all  she'd  done  for 
her,  not  wed  the  man  till  six  months  after  she  was 
dead.  And  Lucinda,  a  most  grateful  girl,  promised  to 
obey.  As  for  Spry,  he  didn't  like  the  condition  at  all, 
and  was  just  getting  restive  about  it  when  his  aunt  had 
her  stroke  and  things  looked  brighter  from  his  point 
of  view. 

During  her  illness  she  was  wayward  and  some  people 
she  wouldn't  suffer  by  her  and  others  she  commanded 
to  attend;  and  among  them  she  would  see  was  the 
young  youth,  Stephen  Kellow.      She  liked  to  have  the 


184  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

great,  strong  monster  of  a  man  at  her  side ;  and  of  an 
evening,  or  on  a  Sunday,  when  he  wasn't  to  work,  he'd 
sit  along  with  her  and  read  the  newspaper  to  her  and 
listen  to  talcs  about  the  old  Trelawnj  days,  and  how 
clever  his  father  was  with  a  horse,  and  what  a  fool  he 
was  with  a  woman. 

"  They  be  difficult  toads  at  best,"  she  told  him  — 
"  the  women,  I  mean ;  and  I  daresay  I  was  like  the 
others  and  didn't  know  my  place;  but  there's  a  good 
few  sensible  girls  in  the  world  for  all  that,  and,  if  I  know 
anything,  Lucinda  Parsons  be  one  of  them." 

Stephen  agreed  very  heartily  with  that.  He  heaved 
a  sigh  and  rubbed  his  great  hand  through  his  hair  and 
told  Miss  Sleep  that  he'd  always  thought  the  same. 

"  Never  was  a  maiden  like  her,"  he  said.  "  I'd  have 
given  my  right  hand  to  win  her.  Miss  Sleep,  and  well 
she  knew  it ;  but  these  things  ain't  in  our  keeping." 

"  Not  if  we  let  'em  go  out  of  our  keeping,"  she 
answered.  "  You  was  always  too  backward  and  humble 
and  silly.  Girls  choose  a  man  as  the  blackbird  chooses 
a  cherry  - —  by  the  outside  —  and  you  hid  your  heart 
so  close  and  kept  such  a  guard  on  your  foolish  tongue 
that,  with  all  the  will  in  the  world,  Lucinda  could  never 
get  to  know  nothing  about  you.  'Tis  only  one  girl  in 
a  thousand  likes  a  silent  man,  and  'tis  no  good  going 
courting  as  if  you'd  got  a  toothache  all  the  time,  or 
something  on  your  mind,  or  your  stomach,  as  don't 
agree  with  it." 

"  'Tis  too  late  now,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  properly 
punished  for  being  such  a  fool,  for  though  she's  all  right 
and  got  the  man  of  her  choice,  I'm  all  wrong  and  always 


THE  LEGACY  185 

shall  be.  There  was  only  one  woman  for  me  and  I  shall 
never  see  another." 

But  Miss  Sleep  wouldn't  grant  it  was  too  late.  In 
fact  she  went  on  most  outrageous  over  it.  She  was 
alwa^'s  dragging  up  Stephen  Kellow  to  Lucinda  and 
always  dragging  up  her  to  him;  and  she'd  have  'em 
together  by  her  bedside  and  lecture  'em  like  two  children. 
Out  of  her  sight  Stephen  would  apologise  to  Lucinda  for 
it  and  say  it  weren't  his  doing,  and  she'd  say  she  knew 
it  weren't,  and  that  they  must  both  suffer  it  for  the  sake 
of  the  sick  woman.  They  explained  their  feelings  to 
one  another  and  Lucinda  admitted  that,  but  for  her 
lover,  she  might  in  time  have  got  to  like  Stephen,  and 
he  gave  her  sweetheart  best  for  a  clever  and  a  brilliant 
man,  and  never  said  no  hard  word  against  Spry  Tonkin ; 
which  didn't  make  Lucinda  think  any  worse  of  him,  of 
course. 

So  it  went  on  till  Sarah  Sleep  got  in  sight  of  her  end ; 
and  presently  she  had  another  stroke,  and  on  Michael- 
mas Day  she  died.  Sauce  to  the  goose  at  the  Tonkins 
that  was,  and  they  could  hardly  wait  for  the  funeral 
and  the  will. 

Then,  when  they'd  put  her  away  and  drunk  a  bottle 
of  brown  sherry  between  'em  and  ate  a  pound  of  fancy 
biscuits,  which  be  the  right  thing  for  a  funeral  seem- 
ingly, they  sat  in  a  row,  like  a  lot  of  black  crows  — 
Milly  Tonkin  with  her  daughters  one  on  each  side  of 
her,  and  Spry  by  Jane  and  Amos  beside  Nettie.  There 
was  one  or  two  other  relations  come  from  Boscastle  and 
St.  Teath ;  but  they  didn't  hope  much  and  found  them- 
selves a  good  bit  surprised  in  consequence.     For  Sarah 


186  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Sleep  left  nearly  every  blessed  thing  to  relatives  that 
she  hadn't  set  eyes  on  for  twenty-five  years.  It  turned 
out  her  cottage  was  her  own,  which  nobody  knew  but 
the  former  ownier,  and  at  her  wish  he  hadn't  mentioned 
it ;  but  beyond  that,  all  that  she  had  wasn't  worth 
fifty  pound.  The  Tonkins  got  nought  but  a  bit  of 
nasty  advice,  and  Lucinda  got  nought  save  a  little,  old, 
three-cornered  cabinet  as  stood  in  the  parlour.  She'd 
often  admired  it,  so  Sarah  Sleep  left  it  to  her  under  her 
will ;  and  as  for  Stephen  Kellow,  much  to  his  amazement, 
he  got  the  house.  'Twas  pretty  well  falling  down,  for 
Sarah  wouldn't  spend  no  money  on  it  —  saying,  what 
seemed  true  enough,  that  she  had  nothing  to  spend. 
And  so  there  it  was,  and  it  looked  as  if  she'd  told  the 
truth  after  all  and  been  living  on  an  annuity ;  though 
there  weren't  no  papers  to  show  for  it,  and  the  lawyer 
didn't  know  nothing  about  it.  There  was  a  bit  of  sly 
fun  poked  at  the  Tonkins  afterwards,  till  Spry  got 
nasty  and  hit  a  man  down  in  the  dinner  hour  in  the 
quarry  for  laughing  at  him  about  the  will.  Then  the 
nine  days'  wonder  died,  and  Stephen  set  about  repairing 
his  house  in  his  spare  time,  and  Lucinda,  puzzled  and 
sorrowful  like,  tried  to  console  the  Tonkins  and  found 
she  couldn't. 

In  fact,  very  much  to  her  grief,  she  discovered  they 
were  growing  none  too  friendly  to  her,  and  after  going 
in  a  good  bit  of  doubt,  she  asked  Nettie  straight  out 
what  was  the  matter.  And  then  she  heard  that  they 
suspected  she'd  got  the  money  on  the  quiet  before 
Sarah  Sleep  died;  and  that  was  such  a  proper  eye- 
opener  for  poor  Lucinda  that  she  very  near  fainted  on 


THE  LEGACY  187 

the  floor.  She  poured  her  troubles  into  Spry's  ear  next 
time  she  got  him  alone ;  but  he  was  moody  and  didn't 
take  'em  much  to  heart,  nor  have  a  row  with  Nettie  for 
saying  such  wicked  things  to  Lucinda. 

"  I  rather  hoped  it  was  true,"  he  confessed.  "  It 
looks  powerful  like  as  if  somebody  had  her  money,  for 
money  there  must  have  been,  I'll  swear ;  and  I  fancied, 
perhaps,  as  you'd  got  it  and  the  old  fool  had  told  you 
to  keep  quiet  about  it  till  a  bit  later." 

"  Good  powers,  my  dear!  "  cried  Lucinda;  "  well,  she 
knew  I  had  no  secret  in  the  world  from  you,  and  never 
would  have." 

But  Spry  judged  others  by  himself  and  didn't  exactly 
believe  her. 

She  bided  in  Kellow's  cottage  all  alone  for  a  bit,  as 
Stephen  begged  her  to  do ;  and  meanwhile  expected 
that  every  time  she  met  Spry  Tonkin  he'd  ax  her  to 
name  the  day.  But  he  didn't  —  not  even  when  she  told 
him  she  was  going  into  service.  All  he  did,  when  he 
heard  that  news,  was  to  nod  his  head  and  say  that  no 
doubt  for  the  minute  she  couldn't  do  better.  And  she 
went  home  and  wept  a  bucket  of  tears  about  it.  That 
it  was  the  beginning  of  a  big  trouble,  however,  she 
couldn't  see,  and  such  is  the  muddle  of  mind  that  most 
men  live  in,  I  don't  believe  Spry  Tonkin  himself  quite 
knew  what  he  was  doing  in  them  da^^s.  Behind  the 
scenes  his  mother  and  sisters  w^ould  grumble  at  their  dis- 
appointment and  whisper  still  that  Lucinda  knew  more 
about  the  truth  than  she  pretended.  In  fact  they 
worked  themselves  up  till  they  felt  positive  she'd  got  the 
money,  and  then,  building  on  moonshine,  as  women  be 


188  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

very  prone  to  do,  wanted  to  find  out  why  Lucinda  made 
a  mystery  of  it  and  why,  at  any  rate,  she  wouldn't 
confide  in  her  sweetheart.  Their  buzzing  influenced 
Sprv  a  lot  —  more  than  he  knew,  in  fact  —  yet,  when 
he  was  alone  with  Lucinda  and  her  voice  in  his  ears 
and  her  eyes  on  his  face,  he  couldn't  somehow  believe 
she  wasn't  straight,  or  telling  him  less  than  the  truth 
when  she  said  she  hadn't  got  a  secret  in  the  world. 

Presently  she  found  work  and  went  to  Mrs,  Retallack 
at  the  Old  Farm.  And  seeing  that  she  couldn't  take  her 
three-cornered  cabinet  with  her,  she  asked  Stephen 
Kellow  if  he'd  let  it  bide  with  him.  And  he  was  willing. 
He  lived  with  an  old  aunt  and  they  meant  to  come  and 
dwell  at  Stephen's  new  cottage,  as  soon  as  he  had  got 
the  papering  and  painting  done  and  the  leaks  mended 
and  so  on. 

Then  happened  the  great  adventure  that  altered  the 
face  of  the  earth  for  three  people  and  made  history  in 
a  small  way  for  St.  Tid.  History,  I  say,  because,  if 
you  think  on  it,  the  unborn  be  the  great  thing  in  all 
history,  and  'tis  the  coming  together  of  men  and  women 
in  this  generation  that  lay  the  foundations  of  the  next ; 
and  just  the  accident  of  love  and  the  mingling  of  char- 
acter settle  what  sort  of  men  and  women  be  going  to 
run  the  world  when  their  fathers  and  mothers  are  dead 
and  gone. 

Lucinda  had  been  a  fortnight  at  the  Old  Farm  and 
was  well  liked  there  and  might  have  been  happy  enough 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  her  own  affairs.  But,  slow  and 
deadly  sure,  her  simple  mind  began  to  fear  there  was  a 
screw  loose  with  Spry  Tonkin.     She  couldn't  bring  her- 


•    _ 


THE  LEGACY  189 

self  to  say  the  words,  nor  yet  even  to  think  them;  yet 
down  in  her  heart  she  felt  a  pain  and  knew  too  well 
what  had  put  it  there. 

There  came  a  Sunday  when  the}'  met  by  appointment 
by  Newhall  Mill  in  the  woods,  and  Lucinda  flew  there 
light-foot  with  her  eyes  aglow  and  her  heart  happy  as 
a  song-bird,  for  a  proper  fine  thing  had.happened  to  her 
—  a  wonderful  stroke  of  fortune  had  come  her  way  at 
last  —  and  she  was  full  of  the  most  amazing  bit  of  news 
you  can  well  imagine. 

That  very  morning  it  had  come  —  'twas  in  her  bosom 
at  that  moment  —  and  time  dragged  to  eternity  till  she 
was  free  to  be  off  to  her  tryst  and  pour  her  splendid 
story  into  Spry  Tonkin's  ear.  And  again  and  again 
she'd  put  up  her  hand  to  her  breast,  where  something 
was  stored  away  under  her  Sunday  frock  —  a  wonder- 
ful something  to  be  put  into  her  lover's  hand  with  joy 
and  thankfulness. 

By  the  mill  pool  she  walked  and  her  dreams  were  so 
bright  as  the  falling  cherry  leaves  on  the  water,  for 
'twas  autumn  time  and  Newhall  Mill  pool's  never  braver 
than  when  the  trees  are  yellow  and  gold  and  the  leaf 
flying  in  October. 

Spry  Tonkin  was  late,  in  fact  the  girl  began  to  faint 
for  the  sight  of  his  body  and  the  sound  of  his  voice. 
She  tramped  for  half  an  hour  and  more,  yet  couldn't 
run  to  meet  him,  for  she  wasn't  sure  which  way  he 
might  come.  And  then,  when  she  began  to  grow  fearful 
that  he'd  forgot  about  it  altogether,  he  came  down  by 
the  spinney  side,  and  she  hurried  up  to  greet  him,  and 
even  in  that  great  moment  of  excitement,  she  couldn't 


190  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

but  note  that  he  was  dragging  his  feet  and  looking  cruel 
glum. 

She  was  going  to  kiss  him  and  pour  out  her  fine  tale ; 
but  to  her  horror  Spry  held  off.  His  face  was  flushed 
and  he  appeared  to  be  in  a  terrible  nervous  frame  of 
mind,  and  though  she  was  in  a  tearing  hurry  to  speak, 
it  seemed  that  he  was  in  still  more  of  a  hurry.  In  fact 
he  meant  to  have  the  first  word;  and  so  he  did;  and  he 
had  the  last  also.  For  his  news  came  down  on  Lucinda 
like  a  shoe  on  a  black  beetle.  'Twas  as  though  an 
earthquake  had  opened  under  her  feet  and  a  thunder- 
bolt had  fallen  atop  of  her  at  the  same  moment.  She 
heard  the  beginning  and  that  was  all  that  mattered  for 
Lucinda.  The  rest  didn't  signify  no  more  than  the 
dead  leaves  in  the  water. 

"  Let  me  speak  and  get  it  over,"  he  said.  "  'Tis  a 
wisht,  cruel  thing  for  both  of  us,  and  I  shall  never  be 
the  same  again,  and  my  life's  ruined  for  evermore.  But 
I  can't  go  on  with  this  —  I  can't  wed  you,  Lucinda. 
You're  free.  Marriage  ain't  in  sight  and  never  will  be 
and  —  oh,  there's  a  thousand  good  reasons  why  we 
shouldn't  go  no  further.  And  the  truth  is  that  love's 
a  damned,  tricky,  uncertain  thing,  and  it  comes  and 
goes.  In  fact  I  don't  love  you  no  more.  My  misfor- 
tune, not  my  fault.  But  life's  life  and  no  man  knows 
what  may  happen  to  him." 

She  stared,  but  kept  her  senses.  Her  hand  went  up 
to  her  dress,  where  the  secret  was  hid;  then  it  came 
down  again.  She  swayed  a  bit  and  leaned  against  a 
tree  behind  her,  while  he  went  on  talking  about  duty 
and  the  need  to  face  disappointment  and  the  shortness 


THE  LEGACY  191 

of  money,  and  whatever  else  his  mean  brains  could  tel- 
egraph to  his  tongue.  And  she  answered  never  a  word 
—  not  one  word  did  she  say,  but  just  gazed  before  her, 
unseeing,  unknowing,  like  a  woman  woke  suddenly  from 
sleep. 

He  wearied  presently,  for  he'd  expected  a  bit  of  a 
counterblast,  no  doubt. 

*'  Will  you  walk  along,  Lucinda,  and  give  me  your 
views,  please  .-^     I've  talked  enough,"  he  said  presently. 

"  I  ain't  got  no  views,"  she  answered  him.  "  And 
you've  talked  enough,  as  you  say.  And  I'll  ax  you  to 
leave  me,  Mr.  Tonkin." 

He  messed  about  a  little  longer  and  said  he  hoped 
to  God  they'd  always  respect  each  other  and  be  good 
friends ;  but  she  didn't  speak  again,  so  presently  he 
took  off  his  hat  and  said  he'd  wish  her  "  Good  evening." 

And  then  he  crept  off. 

She  held  upright  and  game  till  he  was  round  the  edge 
of  the  wood,  and  then  her  knees  went  and  she  came 
over  giddy  for  a  minute  and  slipped  down  and  sat  on 
the  ground.  She  was  properly  stunned,  without  a 
doubt;  yet  her  woman's  sense  had  saved  her;  her  brain 
never  stopped  working  in  that  terrible  moment,  and 
while  her  heart  had  cried  to  her  that  she  might  have 
won  him  back  with  a  word,  her  head  told  her  that  to 
do  so  would  be  a  terrible  mistake.  For  every  woman 
knows,  or  did  ought  to  know,  that  the  man  who  can  be 
bought  ain't  worth  buying. 

So  she  kept  her  mouth  shut,  and  the  handsome  price 
she  got  for  that  wonderful  feat  was  her  future  hap- 
piness. 


192  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

She  took  a  little  flat  parcel  out  of  her  breast  pres- 
ently and  was  in  a  mind  to  fling  it  in  the  mill  pool  and 
herself  after  it.  But  she  didn't.  She  just  went  back 
to  the  water  and,  feeling  weak  in  the  knees,  sat  beside 
it  and  stared  and  watched  the  voles  on  the  banks  and 
a  mother  moorhen  with  her  chicks.  The  outside  of 
her  mind  idly  followed  the  creatures;  the  inside  just 
throbbed,  like  a  dying  fire  when  the  ashes  rustle  and  the 
last  sparks  fade. 

She  went  back  to  the  farm  presently  and  the  awful 
thing  returned  and  returned,  like  the  memory  of  a 
sudden  death.  For  this  was  death  to  her  hope  and  her 
love.  It  crushed  her  and  bent  her  head  and  dimmed  her 
eyes ;  and  the  great  news  of  the  morning  was  all  Dead 
Sea  fruit  now  and  life  looked  no  more  than  a  dreary 
count  of  lonely,  grey  years  not  worth  living. 

But  if,  as  Spry  Tonkin  truly  said,  "  life's  life,"  so  we 
may  say  as  truly  that  "  youth's  youth."  And  youth 
will  be  served.  Lucinda  came  to  herself  after  a  bit, 
and  what  her  wits  had  whispered  in  that  terrible  moment 
her  neighbours  didn't  hesitate  to  say  out  loud.  Mrs. 
Retallack,  properly  pleased  at  heart  to  find  she  weren't 
going  to  lose  Lucinda  after  all,  assured  the  girl  that  she 
was  well  out  of  it,  and  that  her  luck  had  stuck  to  her 
far  better  than  she  thought. 

You  see  it  happened  this  way:  that  very  Sunday 
morning  at  chapel,  who  should  be  there  but  Stephen 
Kellow.'^  and  after  service  he'd  walked  a  bit  of  her  road 
beside  Lucinda  and  put  a  packet  in  her  hand  and  ex- 
plained how  he'd  come  by  it. 


THE  LEGACY  193 

"  'Tis  yours,"  he  said,  "  and  you'll  find  twenty-five 
golden  sovereigns  in  a  little,  wool  pence- jug,  and  seven 
hundred-pound  notes  and  four  five-pound  notes  pinned 
together  with  a  safety  pin.  That  makes  seven  hundred 
and  forty-five  pounds ;  and  I'll  thank  you  to  count  it 
over  afore  I  go  and  give  me  a  line  on  a  bit  of  paper 
saying  as  you've  got  the  money." 

He  was  always  cautious  like  that,  Stephen  Kellow 
was. 

Mrs.  Retallack  made  him  come  in  the  Old  Farm  and 
eat  his  Sunday  dinner  with  them  and  tell  his  tale.  But 
there  was  very  little  to  tell.  On  the  afternoon  before, 
he'd  taken  down  Lucinda's  cabinet  because  he  was  stick- 
ing up  some  fresh  wall-paper  in  the  parlour ;  and  then 
noticing  'twas  shabby  and  wanted  a  polish  up,  he'd 
opened  it  and  started  to  clean  it.  And  inside  he  found 
a  little  drawer  locked  and  the  lock  hidden  under  a 
beading.  Tliere  weren't  no  key,  but  he'd  got  it  open 
with  a  bit  of  wire  and  found  the  money.  And  that 
made  Lucinda  remember  something  which  she'd  forgot 
till  then.  Six  months  and  more  before  she  died,  Sarah 
Sleep  had  given  the  girl  a  key  and  told  her  to  store 
it  safe,  because  she'd  want  it  some  day.  But  Lucinda 
had  never  called  it  back  to  her  mind  till  this  moment. 

"  I'm  glad  to  hear  that,"  said  Stephen,  "  because  if 
that's  the  key,  'tis  good  evidence  of  what  Miss  Sleep 
meant,  and  now  none  can  doubt  the  money  was  intended 
to  be  yours." 

So  there  it  stood  and  time  proved  the  key  was  right, 
though    only    pure   luck    ever   got    Sarah's    legacy    to 


194?  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Lucinda.  They  puzzled  after  to  know  why  she'd  made 
such  a  secret  of  it ;  but  Mrs.  Retallack  threw  light  on 
that  and  so  did  a  good  few  others. 

"  She  done  it  because  she  saw  through  Master  Spry," 
said  Mrs.  Retallack,  comforting  Lucinda  that  night. 
"  She  was  a  long-sighted  woman  and  a  good  judge  of 
a  body's  worth,  and  she  hoped  that  if  you  was  left  with 
nought  when  she  died,  he'd  throw  you  over;  and  she 
was  right,  for  he  did.  And  I'll  tell  you  another  thing : 
'twouldn't  fill  me  with  amazement  if  I  heard  that  silent 
Stephen  Kellow  wasn't  in  the  secret  from  the  first  and 
knew  all  about  it.  And  if  he  did,  he  was  a  fool  to 
let  it  out  so  soon.  If  you'd  took  your  good  news 
to  Spry  Tonkin  a  week  sooner,  you'd  have  heard  no 
more  about  his  flinging  you  over;  and  if  you'd  ever 
got  in  your  own  oar  first  and  spoke  to  him  before  he 
spoke  to  you,  he  would  have  changed  his  mind  and 
you'd  have  married  a  man  as  had  already  decided  to 
chuck  you." 

The  horror  of  that  thought  kept  Lucinda  awake 
every  night  for  a  week. 

Of  course  the  end  was  bound  to  be  just  what  that 
dead  woman  had  wanted  and  planned  for.  Kellow 
swore  most  solemn  he'd  never  heard  of  the  money  before 
he  came  across  it,  and  a  bit  later  he  found  his  tongue  in 
earnest  and  asked  Lucinda  to  come  and  see  her  old 
home.  And  when  she  came,  he  fairly  begged  her  to 
stop  in  it ;  and  she  agreed  to  do  so. 

They  was  tokened  in  a  week  after  Spry  Tonkin  had 
said  his  sa}^  and  if  he'd  hit  down  every  man  who  laughed 
at  him  then,  he'd  have  had  his  hands  fuU  for  a  month 


THE  LEGACY  195 

o'  Sundays.  The  Tonkins  never  forgave  her,  of  course, 
and  never  believed  the  story.  They  held  to  it  she  was 
a  sly,  evil  minx,  and  had  hid  the  money  till  she  made 
Spry  give  her  up.  And  no  doubt  they  honestly  thought 
so.  But  none  else  ever  did  —  not  even  another  girl 
that  Spry  got  tinkering  after  afore  he  chucked  Lucinda. 
He  got  left  there,  too,  and  then,  he  found  himself  fairly 
fed  up  with  St.  Tid  and  went  off  to  the  quarries  in 
Pennsylvania,  where  plenty  of  St.  Tid  men  are  working 
at  American  slate.  As  for  Lucinda  and  Stephen,  they 
wedded  at  Christmas  and  only  Mrs.  Retallack  was  sorry 
about  it. 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS 

When  my  mother  died,  father,  as  had  waited  very 
patient  till  then,  made  tracks  and  was  never  seen  no 
more.  He  closed  her  eyes,  and  said,  "  Thank  God  she's 
a  goner."  Then  he  went  to  the  cupboard  and  mixed 
a  Samson,  which  be  a  drink  of  brandy  and  cider;  and 
then  he  packed  liis  fardel,  and  took  his  tools  and 
marched  out  of  Madron  for  ever. 

Father  was  called  Thomas  Chirgwin,  and  he'd  been  a 
mine-captain  once  and  very  well  thought  upon ;  but 
he  fell  to  drink,  and  got  lower  and  lower,  till  when 
mother  went,  after  a  cruel  bad  time  of  it,  he  was  sunk 
to  day-labourer's  work  on  the  roads.  After  he  cleared 
out  there  wasn't  money  to  pay  for  burying  mother,  and 
but  for  Uncle  William  I  should  have  had  to  go  in  the 
workhouse;  but  he  came  fonvard  then,  though  I  was 
only  a  little  chap  —  twelve  \^ear  old,  and  no  good  for 
nought  but  keeping  crows  from  corn  and  such  like. 

I'd  worked  at  that  for  him  afore,  and  got  a  penny  a 
day  and  my  victuals  by  it ;  and  now,  since  I  was  left 
alone  in  the  world,  the  man  took  me  over,  and  I  went 
along  to  his  farm  between  Madron  church-town  and  the 
moors.  Journey's  End  the  place  was  called  —  a  little 
low  house  in  a  parcel  o'  trees,  Avi'  good  tilth  round 
about,  though  not  much  of  it.  'Twas  Uncle  William's 
own,  and  he'd  bought  it  after  fifty  year  of  work,  and  he 

196 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         197 

was  terrible  proud  of  it  and  of  himself  for  winning 
it. 

Billy  Chirgwin  was  one  of  them  little  go-by-the- 
ground  men  —  a  podgy,  short,  and  stmnpy  chap.  Red 
in  the  face  and  blue  in  the  eye  he  was,  and  he  wore  his 
hair  in  a  fringe  under  his  double  chin ;  but  his  cro^\Ti 
was  bald,  and  stood  up  over  his  red,  wrinkled  neck  and 
forehead,  like  an  egg  out  of  its  cup. 

A  lot  of  sense  he  had  to  him,  but  he  was  obstinate, 
and  when  he  made  up  his  mind,  'twas  a  thing  no  more  to 
be  changed  than  what  happened  yesterday.  He  hated 
women,  and  had  a  mistaken  fancy  they  was  all  after  him 
—  for  the  sake  of  the  farm ;  so  the  woman's  work  to 
Joume^^'s  End  was  done  by  married  ones.  For  a  long 
time  the  head  man  and  his  wife,  Mrs.  Polglaze,  lived 
with  Uncle  William;  but  when  Tim  Polglaze  found  a 
job  he  liked  better,  of  course,  they  went,  and  the  master 
was  in  a  great  quandary  what  to  do.  He  might  have 
had  a  score  of  widdy-women,  but  he  mistrusted  that 
sort  worst,  so  at  last  he  tried  a  fisherman's  wife  from 
Newlyn.  But  she  failed  him  cruel,  and  drank  his 
spirits,  and  was  always  asking  her  husband  up  to  tea. 
Then  uncle  sent  her  packing,  and  swore  by  the  saints 
that  he  wouldn't  have  no  more  females  about  him. 

"  Us'll  do  wi'out  'em,  and  a  good  riddance,"  he  said. 
"  It  shall  be  St.  Tibb's  Eve  ^  afore  another  petticoat 
comes  here.  You've  got  to  learn  to  cook,  Samuel,  and 
the  sooner  the  better." 

I  never  went  against  nothing  he  said,  and  I  did  my 
bestest,  but  I  turned  out  a  terrible  bufflehead  at  it,  and 
1  St.  Tibb's  Eve.     Never. 


198  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TLD 

after  uncle  had  been  took  bad  twice  with  a  feehng  like 
a  cannon  ball  in  his  left  side,  he  saw  that  cooking  wasn't 
in  my  way. 

"  What  the  mischief  you  do  to  the  meat  and  puddings 
I  don't  know,  Samuel,"  he  said  to  me ;  "  but  I  want 
twopen'orth  o'  peppermint  every  time  I  let  down  a 
dish  you've  cooked ;  and  so,  no  doubt,  'tis  true  that 
only  Frenchmen  can  cook,  and  Englishmen  can't  larn 
it." 

Neither  of  the  other  two  chaps  at  Journey's  End 
would  take  the  kitchen  work  on,  and  both  said  that  if 
such  belly-vengeance  food  was  to  be  the  rule  they'd  have 
to  go. 

Uncle  was  a  good  bit  put  out,  but  he  saw  the  reason 
of  it,  though  he  had  a  slap  at  me  afore  he  changed  his 
plans. 

"  I  thought  you  was  going  to  be  a  useful  chap, 
Samuel,"  he  said  to  me  one  morning.  "  Ess  fay,  I 
declare  to  myself  that  you  would  prove  a  blessing  in 
disguise;  but  as  things  are,  I  be  like  the  Mayor  of 
Falmouth  —  him  as  gave  God  the  praise  when  they 
doubled  the  size  of  the  gaol.  You*m  a  terror,  and 
you'm  paying  me  for  my  kindness  by  trying  to  shorten 
my  life." 

"  Wait  till  dinner.  Uncle  William,"  I  said. 

I'd  made  a  star-gazing  pie  for  dinner  that  day,  and 
it  promised  so  well  as  ever  a  pie  did  promise.  'Tis  a 
pie  of  paste  and  pilchards,  and  you  bake  it  wi'  the  fish 
pokin'  their  noses  through  the  crust.  Pretty  eating, 
too :  but,  of  course,  it  have  got  to  be  handled  clever,  and 
I  failed  again.     The  dowl  knows  what  I'd  done  to  the 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         199 

pie,  but  'twas  as  hard  as  granite  outside,  and  the  fish 
was  raw  underneath. 

Uncle  he  got  it  open,  and  me  and  t'other  men  looked 
hopefully  upon  it ;  and  then  uncle  dashed  down  liis  knife 
and  fork  and  shouted  out: 

"  Fetch  in  the  bread  and  cheese,  and  take  this  here 
ondacent  mess  to  the  pigs." 

'Twas  the  last  straw,  you  might  say,  and  after  all 
his  great  speeches  in  the  village  and  out,  Uncle  Chirg- 
win  was  forced  to  go  back  on  his  wox'd,  and  seek  a 
woman  for  the  farm. 

"  'Tis  a  matter  of  life  and  death,"  I  heard  him  say 
to  Mrs.  Tressider  at  our  outer  gate  the  next  evening. 

"  'Tis  life  or  death,  or  I  wouldn't  do  it.  But  I've  lost 
two  teeth  out  of  my  false  lot  —  snapped  off  like  stub- 
ble in  yonder  boy's  parlous  cooking  —  and  my  innards 
be  just  one  everlasting  strife,  and  my  sleep's  forsaking 
me.  So  it  have  got  to  end.  And  if  you  know  a  re- 
spectable married  woman  that  can  handle  a  bit  of  bacon 
and  a  potato  without  disgracing  herself,  you'll  do  me  a 
kindness  to  name  her." 

Mrs.  Tressider  thought,  and,  motherlike,  cast  her 
mind  over  her  own  first.  She  had  ten,  and  the  first 
batch,  by  her  husband  Thomas  Cardew  —  liim  as  was 
killed  in  Cam  Brea  Mine  —  were  all  doing  well,  and  the 
youngest  was  turned  sixteen ;  but  the  second  lot,  by 
Michael  Tressider,  they  were  only  coming  on,  and  the 
eldest  of  'em  had  reached  no  more  than  thirteen  at  this 
time.  Mrs.  Tressider  thought  a  bit,  knowing  Uncle 
William's  weakness  ;  then  she  spoke. 

"  I   suppose  now  as   you  wouldn't  be   afeared  of  a 


200  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

maiden  not  seventeen  year  old?  I  understand  very 
well  how  'tis  with  you,  Mr.  Chirgwin,  and  I  know  the 
females  are  cunning  toads,  and  I've  always  thought  you 
was  terrible  clever  to  keep  out  of  their  way  same  as  you 
have  done ;  but  there's  my  darter.  Cherry  —  she 
couldn't  have  no  designs  on  'e  at  her  tender  age,  and 
what  that  girl  don't  know  about  cooking  idden  worth 
knowing.  She's  the  nessel-bird  ^  of  my  first  husband's 
family,  and  a  towser  for  work,  and  very  understanding 
every  way." 

"  If  she  ban't  seventeen,  she  wouldn't  think  to  catch 
a  man  very  near  seventy,  of  course,"  says  Uncle 
William. 

"  That  she  would  not.  And  my  advice  to  you  is  to 
give  her  a  trial.  Clean  as  a  new  pin.  Cherry  is,  and 
always  cheerful,  and  always  to  work." 

"  She'll  be  a  gallavanter  at  her  age,"  said  uncle 
doubtfully. 

But  Mrs.  Tressider  pressed  it,  and  sang  Cherry  Car- 
dew's  praises,  and  added  that  if  she  was  a  failure,  the 
girl  could  easily  be  sent  home  again. 

And  so  it  fell  out  that  she  came  along  to  see  if  she 
was  clever  enough  to  please  the  master  of  Journey's 
End. 

But  uncle  he  went  to  old  Mother  Trewoof  afore  he 
closed  with  the  offer.  She  was  the  only  woman  he  ever 
believed  in,  and  seeing  that  she  was  the  wisest  creature 
on  the  countryside,  he  couldn't  choose  but  do  so.  A 
sort  of  white  witch  many  called  her,  and  for  certain 
she  knowed  a  cruel  lot  of  strange  things.  But  her 
1  Nessel-bird.    The  youngest. 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         201 

advice  was  run  after,  and  she  was  very  large-minded, 
and  didn't  care  a  pin  whether  you  took  it  or  left  it,  so 
long  as  you  paid  her  fee. 

Mother  Trewoof  said  no  harm  could  come  of  trying 
Cherry  Cardew,  and  so  Cherry  came,  and  it  idden  too 
much  to  say  that  she  managed  all  us  men  from  the  first. 
Such  wits  no  young  thing  ever  had  afore;  and  as  for 
cooking,  Uncle  William  found  hisself  unwell  again  after 
she'd  been  in  the  house  three  days ;  but  this  time  he 
said  that  'twas  only  a  testament  to  the  girl's  skill,  be- 
cause the  food  was  so  proper  he'd  ate  far  too  much  of  it. 

So  she  stayed  and  much  came  of  that.  Cherry  was 
tall,  and  straight,  and  slim  to  look  at,  but  she  had  dear 
little  womanly  rounds  about  her,  and  a  womanly  small- 
ness  of  hands  and  feet.  She  wore  a  pink  print  work- 
days, and  had  a  very  fine  blue  gown  when  she  went  out. 
Her  eyes  were  large,  and  so  grey  as  glass,  but  she  kept 
her  eyelids  down  over  'em  a  lot,  and  her  lashes  spread 
out  in  a  very  pretty  fashion.  She  had  a  nubby  nose 
and  a  lovely  colour  to  her  cheeks,  which  were  very  near 
so  bright  as  blotting  paper.  And  her  mouth  was  large, 
but  a  lovely  shape.  She'd  a  regular  stack  of  corn- 
coloured  hair,  as  she  wore  piled  up  so  bright  as  a  little 
barleymow  'pon  top  of  her  head;  and  she  was  always 
cheerful  and  willing. 

But  she  kept  herself  to  herself  a  good  bit,  and  you 
couldn't  tell  she  was  in  the  house  half  the  day  but  for 
her  singing.  Uncle  was  troubled  about  the  singing 
at  first,  but  he  put  up  with  it,  for  he  soon  found  out  his 
luck  and  didn't  want  to  do  nothing  to  drive  the  girl 
away. 


202  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

And  then,  after  she'd  been  along  with  us  nine  or  ten 
months,  and  drawing  six  pound  a  year  for  it,  a  terrible 
queer  thing  happened  to  me. 

I  was  up  eighteen  old  by  now  —  a  gert,  hulkin'  chap, 
over  six  foot,  and  terrible  strong;  and  me  and  a  good 
few  others  was  wont  to  meet  of  a  Sunday  nigh  Madron 
church,  and  smoke  and  air  our  opinions,  and  watch  the 
passers-by.  It  happened  one  afternoon,  as  I  stood 
there  along  with  half  a  score  of  others,  that  Peter  Noy, 
from  Gulval,  was  amongst  us,  and  he  made  a  scornful 
speech  in  my  hearing.  A  terrible  chap  for  the  maidens, 
he  was  —  had  a  sort  of  bullying,  God-Almighty  way 
with  him  they  couldn't  stand  against.  Like  spaniels 
they  bore  themselves  afore  him,  though  whatever  they 
saw  in  the  red-headed  creature  none  of  us  other  men 
could  guess. 

'"Who  be  that  wench  wi'  the  green  eyes.''  "  suddenly 
asked  Peter. 

'Twas  Cherry,  and  her  mother,  Mrs.  Tressider,  had 
just  gone  in  to  worship  along  with  her  and  three  or  four 
cliildren. 

He  couldn't  have  meant  no  girl  else,  so  I  answered 
him. 

"  'Tis  Miss  Cherry  Cardew,"  I  said,  "  and  her  eyes 
ban't  no  more  green  than  your  hair." 

"  So  green  as  a  leaf,"  he  answered.  "  If  I  don't 
know  what  colour  a  girl's  eyes  be,  'tis  pity." 

"  You'm  a  liard,  Peter  Noy,"  I  said. 

Well,  he  was  an  upstanding  chap,  a  good  few  year 
older  than  me,  and  a  bit  heavier,  though  not  so  tall. 
He  didn't  know  how  terrible  strong  I  was,  or  he  might 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         203 

have  thought  again ;  but  wlien  I  told  him  plump  out 
that  he  was  a  liard,  he  didn't  much  like  it,  and  come 
over  and  put  his  face  within  an  inch  of  mine. 

"  You  say  that  again  and  I'l  drop  you  in  the  ditch,V 
says  Peter. 

"  Come  up  to  the  wood  and  you  shall  hear  it  again 
so  oft  as  you  like  to  hear  it,"  I  answered  him. 

So  we  made  a  move  up  over,  where  Madron  woods 
come  to  the  tilth,  and  seven  or  eight  of  us  went  in  a 
nice  thicket  out  of  harm's  way ;  and  then  I  told  the  man 
he  was  a  liard  and  a  silly  fool  in  the  bargain,  if  he 
didn't  know  the  difference  betwixt  grey  and  green. 

With  that  we  took  off  our  coats  and  waistcoats,  and 
our  Sunday  collars  and  ties.  I  was  for  fighting,  but 
Peter  said  the  case  didn't  call  for  that  and  he  was  going 
to  wrastle ;  and  'twas  all  one  to  me,  for  I  could  do  either. 

We  cockled  up  to  each  other,  and  I  gave  him  a  Corn- 
ish hug  that  bent  in  his  ribs  a  bit ;  and,  afore  he  knowed 
we  was  beginning,  the  man  found  hisself  on  his  back  in 
the  thorns.  Thrice  I  felled  him,  and  then  he  shook 
hands  very  friendly  and  I  did  the  same;  and  we  was 
good  companions  ever  after  and  no  harm  done ;  and  he 
finished  by  saying  that  the  girl's  eyes  might  be  any 
colour  I  pleased  and  be  damned  to  her.  So  we  left  it 
at  that,  and  the  job  wouldn't  have  been  worth  mention- 
ing but  for  one  thing.  It  told  me  a  wonderful  queer 
bit  of  news. 

I  said  to  myself  going  home  that  evening,  "  If  you  can 
get  sparring  over  a  thing  like  that,  Sam  Chirgwin,  and 
if  you  care  whether  a  maiden's  eyes  be  green  or  gre}', 
there's  something  in  it."     And  then  it  comed  over  me. 


204  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

like  a  flash  of  lightning,  that  I  cared  for  Cherry.  I'd 
felt  a  sort  of  uneasy  hankering  to  put  my  arms  around 
her  and  squeeze  her  for  six  months  very  near;  but  she 
wasn't  that  sort  and  I  knowed  it.  Then,  with  time, 
I'd  growed  to  feel  different  and  now  I'd  no  more  have 
dared  to  touch  her  than  strike  her.  "  You'm  a  gert 
gaby,  and  you'd  best  to  put  such  foolery  out  of  yur 
head,"  I  told  myself.     And  I  tried,  but  I  couldn't  do  it. 

Besides,  she  changed  herself  at  this  time.  Some 
chap  —  Freddy  Lanine  I  think  'twas  —  told  her  about 
my  fun  with  Peter  Noy,  and  the  reason  for  it  —  and  it 
appeared  to  vex  her  something  terrible,  for  she  growed 
all  woman  in  a  day  and  cold-shouldered  me  as  if  I'd 
done  a  wicked  act.  I  thought  at  first  that  Peter  Noy 
had  catched  her,  but  'twasn't  that.  She  knowed  aU 
about  him  and  said  she'd  rather  go  to  the  grave  a 
maiden  than  have  anything  to  do  with  a  carrot-headed 
man. 

So  times  was  changed,  and  I  soon  knowed  I  loved  her 
furious.  My  eyes  watered  afore  her,  and  my  mouth, 
too,  for  that  matter.  She  was  a  bowerly  piece,  and  of 
course  I  weren't  the  only  one  by  many.  But  she  went 
her  wa}^,  as  if  there  weren't  a  man  in  the  world;  and, 
come  her  day  out,  to  her  mother  she  alwa3"s  would  go. 

Then  I  took  my  courage,  after  a  sweaty  night  o' 
fear,  and  axed  her,  in  so  many  words,  if  she'd  go  for  a 
walk  some  evening.  She  looked  sideways  under  them 
lovely  little  frills  of  eyelash  and  said  she'd  think  of  it, 
and  I  noticed  when  I  talked  to  her  now  that  my  voice 
was  all  over  the  shop.  Two  days  later  I  axed  her  again 
and  she  said  she'd  come ;  and  she  did  come.      'Twas  the 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         205 

dimpsy  of  a  summer  evening,  and  we  went  up  over  past 
St.  Madron's  well  and  chapel  on  the  hill.  We  walked 
out  in  the  moor  presently,  and  pitched  on  a  stone  and 
Avatched  the  light  fade  out  of  the  sky.  'Twas  still  and 
fine,  and  the  engine-stack  of  Wheal  Darkness  looked  so 
black  as  ink  against  the  sunset,  and  the  airy-mice  was 
winging  and  squeaking  very  lively  along  the  edge  of 
the  woods. 

Yet  try  as  I  might,  I  couldn't  find  nothing  to  tell 
about. 

'Twas  a  very  silent  walk  in  fact,  but  I  kept  looking 
upon  her  a  lot,  and  for  the  most  part  she  held  her  eyes 
to  the  ground. 

"  That's  a  terrible  big  dew-snail,"  I  said  once,  point- 
ing to  a  great  black  creature  crawling  over  the  grass. 

"  So  'tis  then,"  she  answered. 

"  You  don't  sing  about  the  house  so  much  as  you  did 
use,"  I  said  again,  ten  minutes  later. 

"Don't  I.?"  she  asked. 

"  No,"  I  answered,  "  you  do  not." 

But  nothing  came  of  it. 

Then  I  had  a  slap  at  another  subject.  "  The  eve- 
ning star  be  wonderful  bright,"  I  said. 

"  Not  brighter  than  usual,"  thought  Cherry.  But 
I  declared  that  it  was  and  she  wouldn't  argue  about  it 
and  allowed  I  might  be  in  the  right.  Then  I  had  a 
happy  idea  and  asked  her  why  for  she  was  called 
Cherry,  and  she  said,  "  I  idden.  My  true  name's  Char- 
ity. But  Mr.  Tressider  took  a  great  dislike  to  it  — 
him  being  a  Socialist  —  and  'twas  him  as  ordained  to 
change  it." 


206  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

This  was  a  bit  of  news  to  me,  and  I  sat  and  thought 
upon  the  point  for  a  half  hour  I  dare  say.  Then,  far 
off,  us  heard  Madron  church  clock  tell  nine. 

"  'Tis  time  we  was  gwaine  back  along,"  I  said. 

Presently  a  night  bird  began  hollering,  and  another 
answered  it,  and  I  told  Cherry  'twas  owls,  but  she 
thought  'twas  more  like  crying  children.  I  made  some 
joke  then  about  the  pisgies  and  the  spriggans ;  but  she 
grew  comical-tempered  in  a  minute,  and  I  found  that 
she  took  all  such  matters  very  serious. 

"  You  don't  mean  for  to  say  you  believe  in  the  little 
people?  "  I  asked  her,  and  she  told  me  to  mind  my  own 
business.  It  promised  to  spoil  the  end  of  the  walk,  but 
she  forgived  me  afore  we'd  got  home,  though  not  till 
I  apologized  very  humble.      I  said: 

"  I'm  a  know-naught  gert  fool,  Cherry,  and  I  dare 
say  there's  millions  of  fairies  in  Cornwall  3'et,  and  why 
not?  And  I'm  sure  you  be  so  wonderful  as  a  fairy 
yourself  for  that  matter." 

I  felt  that  was  pretty  smart,  and  she  liked  it,  too, 
and  said  as  none  could  prove  there  wasn't  fairies,  while 
a  lot  of  very  clever  people  knowed  for  certain  that  there 
was.  Her  own  father  had  heard  the  spriggans  knock- 
ing in  the  mine  two  days  afore  he  was  killed,  and  her 
grandfather  had  been  pisgey-led  two  different  times  in 
his  life,  and  could  swear  to  it  on  the  Book. 

I  said  as  the  walk  had  done  me  a  power  of  good,  and 
made  so  bold  as  to  hope  she'd  come  up  over  and  pitch 
on  thicky  stone  again  sometimes ;  and  she  said  that  if 
us  had  such  another  fine  evening  she  didn't  know  but 
what  she  might. 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         207 

At  day-down  a  week  later  we  went  again,  and  I  had 
terrible  poor  speed.  They  say  that  "  perfect  love  cast- 
eth  out  fear,"  but  I'll  be  blessed  if  mine  did.  I  was  a 
strong,  hulking  giant  of  a  man  and  could  face  anything 
on  four  legs,  or  anything  on  two  for  that  matter  — 
anything  but  Cherry. 

I  don't  know  what  'twas,  but  I  was  dumb  as  a  quil- 
kin  ^  when  along  with  her,  and  yet  right  down  miserable 
when  out  of  her  sight.  I  felt  it  couldn't  go  on,  and  yet 
something  told  me  to  try  and  please  her  and  I  toiled  to 
do  it ;  and  sometimes  I  got  a  smile  and  a  kind  word,  and 
sometimes  she  growed  that  short  and  impatient  with 
me  that  I  felt  an}'  minute  she  might  slap  my  face. 

'Twas  an  up  and  down  sort  of  time,  and  I  very  near 
ran  away  once  or  twice,  for  the  strain  was  cruel.  Now 
and  then  I'd  get  for^varder,  and  then  all  the  good  was 
done  away ;  and  now  and  then  I'd  almost  feel  bold 
enough  to  speak  and  offer  for  her;  but  that  was  gener- 
ally of  a  night,  and  when  the  morning  come  my  spirit 
was  gone. 

She  was  that  uncertain. 

She'd  do  terrible  kind  things  one  day  and  cut  me  to 
the  heart  the  next.  And  then  she  went  out  twice  along 
with  Johnny  Vingoe,  and  I  felt  things  was  at  a  climax. 

Uncle  William  got  a  tissick  on  the  chest  about  then 
—  'twas  springtime  again  —  and  he  wanted  to  see 
Mother  Trewoof  for  it,  and  she  comed  in  one  evening 
and  looked  at  the  man. 

In  her  clever  way  she'd  guessed  what  was  amiss  with 
him  afore  she  saw  him,  and  she  brought  along  marjo- 
1  Quilkin.     Frog. 


208  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

ram  and  elder  and  a  few  suchlike  herbs  to  make  a  valiant 
drink.  And  seeing  what  'twas,  she  bade  Cherry  hot  the 
kettle  and  fetch  a  saucepan. 

Then  she  began  to  make  the  physic;  and  while  she 
made  it  she  talked. 

Uncle,  he  crouched  a  gurglin'  and  chockin'  in  his 
dog-eared  chair  one  side  the  fire;  Mother  Trewoof,  she 
knelt  at  the  hearth  and  stirred ;  Cherry  sat  by  the  table 
darning  socks,  and  I  was  not  far  off  making  rabbit 
nets  —  a  job  at  which  I  was  pretty  spry.  T'other  men 
weren't  in,  and  us  sat  there  silent  as  mice,  but  for  un- 
cle's wheezin',  and  listened  to  Mother  Trewoof. 

Cruel  fine  talk  she  made.  Few  were  the  hidden  things 
that  woman  didn't  know,  and  she  was  terrible  vexed 
with  life  as  it  was,  and  much  wished  us  could  all  go  back 
to  life  as  it  used  to  be. 

"  Along  of  these  here  fansical  schools,"  she  said,  "  the 
children  doan't  believe  in  nothing  at  all,  and  the  old, 
ripe  wisdom  of  us  ancient  folk  be  dust  in  the  balance 
to  'em. 

"  As  if  we  didn't  know  and  hadn't  seen  with  our  eyes 
and  our  forefathers  afore  us !  Take  charms  for  in- 
stance, who  can  cure  wild-fire,  or  burning,  or  toothache 
like  I  can?  Who  can  staunch  blood  so  quick  as  me? 
Yet,  Avhere  fifty  in  a  year  was  wont  to  come  to  me  for 
such  service,  five  don't  now.  And  look  at  the  holy 
stones  up  over  —  the  stone  with  a  hole  in  un,  called  the 
crick-stone,  and  the  written  stone  and  other  sacred  and 
magic  things  —  all  idle  —  all  idle.  Who  ^^sits  the 
crick-stone  now.''  \Yho  goes  there  for  lumbagey  or 
rheumatism,  or  other  cricks,  and  crawls  through  the 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         209 

hole  again  and  again  against  the  way  of  the  sun? 
What  mothers  take  their  babes  there  to  make  'em  strong 
and  lusty  ?  Yet  well  I  know  the  hidden  vartue  and  have 
proved  it  a  thousand  times." 

"  We'm  forgetting  the  clever  things  our  fathers  did. 
'Pears  as  if  the  world  was  to  be  saved  by  electricity 
nowadays,"  said  Uncle  William.  Then  he  coughed  fit 
to  die. 

"  Doan't  you  be  talking:  list  to  me,"  answered 
Mother  Trewoof. 

"  As  for  electricity  a  time  will  come  when  us  shall 
pray  to  our  God  to  take  it  away  again.  'Tis  playing 
with  lightning  at  best  and  the  devil's  weapon  in  my 
opinion.  Didn't  the  saints  know.''  WTien  the  holy 
men  comed  hither  in  a  boat-load  from  Ireland,  'twasn't 
electricity  they  brought  but  the  power  of  God,  and  the 
trick  of  doing  miracles  in  the  Name. 

"  They  didn't  quarrel  with  nobody.  They  let  the 
conjurers  and  white  witches  and  small  people  alone, 
and  them  as  wanted  the  Light  of  Christianity  was  wel- 
come to  it,  and  them  as  didn't,  could  go  their  own  dark 
way,  so  long  as  they  had  no  truck  with  God's  chosen. 
But  'tis  all  gone  now  —  swept  away  by  the  board- 
schools  and  city-bred  teachers,  as  have  no  faith  in  noth- 
ing but  themselves  and  machinery." 

She  poured  the  herby  tea  in  a  basin  and  told  Cherry 
to  set  it  upon  the  window-sill  to  cool. 

"  They  saints  done  a  power  of  good  no  doubt,"  said 
my  uncle. 

"  Iss  fay !  and  would  again  tomorrow  if  anybody  had 
the    faith    to    trust    'em,"    answered    the    old    woman. 


210  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  Take  our  own  —  take  St.  Madron  —  us  don't  want  to 
go  not  a  step  further  for  healing  wonders.  Yet  who 
tramps  up  along  to  his  chapel  now?  Who  dips  there 
in  the  running  water  —  once  blessed,  always  blessed? 
Who  bathes  there  for  the  tiling  their  heart  wanteth,  and 
calls  to  the  listening  saint  for  it,  and  then  goeth  home 
rejoicing?  " 

'•  Not  a  soul,"  admitted  Uncle  William.  "  Yet  when 
I  was  a  young  man  'twas  a  deed  not  seldom  practised, 
and  many  a  mother  dipped  her  babby  in  the  old  font 
and  left  a  rag  hanging  in  the  thorn  tree  over  the  altar- 
stone.  I  can  mind  so  many  as  twenty  rags  dancing 
there  to  a  time;  and  the  birds  Avould  come  and  pluck  at 
'em  for  their  nestes." 

"  The  magic  be  there,"  declared  Mother  Trewoof. 
"  The  good  belongs  to  the  water  for  ever  more,  and 
that's  why  it  don't  run  dry  in  the  hottest  summer  like 
other  common  streams. 

"  Tis  blessed,  and  it  ban't  the  saint's  fault,  nor  yet 
mine,  that  the  people  don't  make  use  of  it.  But  there 
'tis,  with  all  its  vartue,  running  to  waste  year  after 
3^ear.  All  I  know  is  this,  I  wouldn't  be  without  a  bottle 
in  m}^  house  for  untold  gold." 

Uncle  said  'twas  meat  and  drink  to  him  to  hear  tell 
such  things,  and  I  stole  a  look  at  Cherry  to  see  what 
she  thought;  but  she  was  darning  for  dear  life,  and 
didn't  'pear  to  be  interested.  And  I  was  glad  of  it, 
because  there  had  come  in  my  head  a  dashing  thought. 
I  stared  at  her,  but  my  mind  Avas  lifting  far  beyond 
Journey's  End  and  the  people  in  it.  I  felt  a  wonner- 
ful  call.      I  felt  so  strong  as  a  team  of  horses.      'Twas 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         211 

borne  in  upon  me,  like  the  Light  was  borne  in  on  Paul, 
that  this  here  St.  Madron  might  be  the  very  man  for 
my  business.  And  I  said  to  myself,  "  If  a  wise  woman 
like  this  here,  and  a  wise  man  like  uncle,  can  believe  in 
the  holy  saint,  what  right  have  a  gert  silly  like  me  to 
dare  to  doubt?  " 

And  then  I  cast  my  eyes  upon  Cherry  again,  wi'  her 
hair  bright  as  gold  in  the  cannel-light,  and  her  head 
standing  out  like  a  picksher  against  the  old  cloam,  and 
butterprints  and  glass  and  the  like  on  the  dresser  be- 
hind her.  Mother  Trewoof  talked  a  bit  more;  then  she 
had  a  drink  of  uncle's  spirits,  and  he  had  a  dose  of  her 
physic,  and  the  night  ended. 

But  sleep  wouldn't  come  to  me,  and  I  was  already 
thirstin'  for  the  light  of  day,  being  full  of  St.  Madron 
and  his  chapel  and  his  well.  'Twas  my  resolve  at  dawn 
to  be  up  over  and  get  in  the  ruin  and  dip  for  luck,  and 
call  upon  the  saint  with  all  my  might  to  give  me  what 
I  wanted  —  in  the  shape  of  Cherry  Cardew.  I  knowed 
very  well  'twas  time  and  more  than  time  I  axed,  and 
yet  the  awful  fear  of  getting  a  frosty  answer  had  held 
me  back.  But  somehow,  after  hearing  Mother  Tre- 
woof, I  burned  wi'  strength  and  resolution,  and  did  be- 
lieve most  steadfast  that  the  saint  would  give  heed.  I 
argued  long  with  myself  upon  it,  too.  I  weren't  asking 
the  holy  man  for  no  impossibilities.  For  instance,  if 
Cherry  had  been  tokened  to  any  other  chap,  I  wouldn't 
have  done  it ;  but,  for  all  I  knowed  to  the  contrary,  she 
was  heart-whole  and  free  as  air;  and  I  felt  that  if  she 
had  secrets  about  Johnny  Vingoe  then,  be  it  as  it  would, 
'twas  time  I  knowed  'em.     For  one  thing  had  got  to  be 


212  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

deatlily  sure  in  my  mind;  and  that  was,  if  I  couldn't 
get  Cherry,  I  should  have  to  sling  my  hook  beyond 
sight  and  sound  of  her. 

At  peep  o'  day  I  was  sleeping  like  a  pig,  and  didn't 
wake  till  nearly  four  o'clock.  But  I  got  in  my  clothes 
very  quick,  and  was  soon  away  to  St.  Madron's  chapel 
—  a  horny-winky,  lonesome  place  'pon  the  moor-edge, 
a  mile  from  Journey's  End. 

Up  I  went  through  a  strong  easterly  breeze,  and  the 
spring  was  in  the  air,  and  green  things  breaking  out 
of  the  dead  grey  ones  under  my  feet  and  all  round 
about.  An  early  lark  had  gone  aloft  to  catch  the  first 
sunlight,  and  he'd  catched  it  and  hung,  like  a  spark  o' 
fire,  far  ways  up  in  the  blue  pouring  his  heart  out.  So 
I  came  to  the  holy  well  and  ruined  chapel.  'Tis  a  queer 
little  broken-down  spot  wi'  walls  no  higher  than  a  man's 
shoulder,  and  stone  seats  running  inside.  Briers  and 
grass  and  moss  be  over  all,  and  above  the  altar-stone 
there  standeth  a  great  white-thorn  girt  with  an  ivy-tod. 
Furze  and  heather  bind  the  ruin  together;  the  stone 
floor  is  broke  up  with  green  grass  and  daisies,  and  on 
the  altar  be  a  hole  that  had  catched  rain  from  the 
last  shower,  and  flashed  back  the  brightness  of  the  sky. 

St.  Madron's  stream  ran  behind  aglint  and  full  of 
noise,  and  the  wild  parsley  was  budding  beside  it,  and 
the  forget-me-nots  twinkling  blue  above  the  water,  and 
the  furze  towering  up  in  a  bank  of  gold  above.  And  as 
I  came  here,  at  the  first  red  sunrise  light,  I  was  struck 
into  a  gert  terror,  for  upon  the  altar-stone  I  saw  clothes 
and  a  woman's  white  smicket  and  a  pair  of  shoon  and 
stockings.     Then,  bending  down,  I  peered  out  through 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         213 

a  hole  in  the  wall,  and  my  knees  knocked,  and  I  went 
bivvering  over  with  cold,  as  though  I'd  been  struck  with 
frost. 

For  there  was  Cherry  just  rising  mother-naked  out 
of  St.  Madron's  stream.  Her  hair  was  blowing  round 
her,  like  the  merry-dancers,  and  the  moniing  light 
touched  it  and  she  herself  flashed  through  it,  white  as 
curds.  Her  eyes  were  brighter  than  any  stars ;  and 
that's  all  I  knowed,  for  I  went  so  weak  as  a  goose-chick 
afore  that  wonnerful  sight,  because  I'd  never  seen  a 
girl  unrayed  in  all  my  life  afore,  and  'tis  a  most 
amazing  thing.  I  dropped  then,  as  if  I'd  been  shot, 
and  crawled  off,  and  she  come  to  the  altar-stone,  and  I 
heard  her  singing  like  a  grey  bird,  and  getting  back  in 
her  clothes. 

I  didn't  dare  to  move,  but  hid  in  a  brake  close  by 
outside  the  chapel,  till  she  was  off  and  away.  I  lie  there 
thinking  and  wondering  and  sweating  with  jealousy,  for 
somehow  I  guessed  very  well  she  had  come  to  pray  to 
the  saint ;  and  what  her  prayer  had  been  about  I'd  have 
give  ten  year  off  my  life  to  know. 

Presently  I  crept  forth  and  looked  around.  She'd 
left  a  rag  of  her  dress  on  the  white-thorn  tree  for  luck, 
and  'twas  fluttering  there  on  the  wind ;  and  in  the  sand 
by  the  stream  I  found  a  clear  print  of  her  foot  —  five 
little  toes  and  heel ;  and  such  was  my  cruel  state  o'  mind 
that  I  knelt  down  and  kissed  it ! 

Somehow  I  couldn't  go  back  that  minute.  My 
tongue  was  dry  as  a  chip,  and  I  drank  a  drop  of  St. 
Madron's  brook.  Then  I  wandered  about  an  hour  and 
more,    and    then    I    went   home-along.      But    I    turned 


214  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

against  breakfast,  and  the  thought  of  seeing  Cherry 
put  me  in  a  regular  terror,  so  I  just  went  to  the  stable 
and  fetched  out  a  boss  and  marched  off  to  my  morning's 
work.  'Twas  harrowing,  I  remember,  and  hour  after 
hour  I  followed  the  machine,  and  felt  as  if  the  tines  were 
running  over  me  instead  of  the  earth ;  and  yet  somehow 
I  knowed  myself  to  be  a  long  sight  more  of  a  man  than 
ever  I  had  been  until  that  morning. 

'Twas  the  first  and  last  time  in  my  life  as  I  didn't 
feel  what  'twas  to  be  hungry  at  noon.  But  I  didn't, 
and  when  I  saw  Cherry  clambering  up  over  the  field 
wi'  a  frail,  I  very  near  jumped  over  the  hedge  and  ran 
for  it. 

But  the  man  in  me  had  done  with  that  nonsense, 
thank  God,  and  I  stood  my  ground,  so  stiff  as  a  stake, 
and  said  to  myself,  "  I'll  ax  her  or  die." 

In  a  minute  she  was  there,  cool  and  cheerful ;  and  she 
soon  oped  the  basket  and  fetched  out  a  pasty  and  my 
little  wood  runlet,  as  I  kept  for  cider. 

"  Why  for  didn't  you  come  to  breaksis.?  "  she  says. 
"  What  a  timdoodle  of  a  chap  you  be !  " 

"  I  know  that  very  well,"  I  answers  her.  "  But  there 
was  a  reason." 

"  I've  brought  'e  dinner." 

"  And  cruel  kind  of  you  to  bring  it." 

She  was  going  then,  but  I  nerA'ed  myself  and  begged 
her  if  she'd  be  so  kind  as  to  bide  while  I  ate  it. 

She  didn't  seem  much  astonished  at  the  idea,  and  I 
gave  his  nosebag  to  the  boss  and  spread  my  coat  for 
Cherry  on  the  lew  side  of  a  hedge,  and  us  sat  down 
together. 


THE  SAINT  AND  THE  LOVERS         215 

I  knowed  if  I  once  began  talking  on  general  subjects 
ray  courage  would  fade,  so  I  dashed  head-first  into  it, 
afore  I  had  time  to  quail,  and  I  said: 

"  Look  here.  Cherry,  I'm  very  near  out  of  my  seven 
senses  about  you,  and  I  love  you  like  a  burning  fire,  and 
there  'tis  —  will  'e  keep  company  and  be  Cherry  Chirg- 
win  presently?  And  if  you  don't  —  if  you  don't  — 
God's  my  judge  but  I'll  jump  down  a  mine,  for  I  can't 
live  without  'e,  and  wouldn't  if  I  could !  " 

'Twas  out,  and  once  out  I  felt  so  brave  as  a  leash  o' 
lions,  and  stared  straight  in  her  face  and  felt  my  arms 
tingling  to  be  round  her. 

She  flickered  up  till  her  cheeks  was  red  as  herb  robert, 
and  gave  me  one  precious  look,  and  then  her  eyes  went 
down,  and  her  little  lovely  head  went  down  too. 

"  I  know'd  you'd  ax  me  today,  Sam,"  she  said  in  a 
small  voice.  "  Yes,  I  very  well  knowed  you  would  come 
to  it  today." 

"  And  what  do  'e  say  to  me.'*  " 

"  I  love  you,  I  love  you,  I  love  you !  " 

Three  times  she  spoke  it,  and  would  have  said  it  a 
fourth,  but  she  hadn't  no  more  time,  for  I  was  on  her 
like  a  tiger. 

"  'Tis  all  St.  Madron,"  she  said,  when  I  let  her  draw 
breath;  and  then  she  confessed  that  she'd  been  up  to 
the  chapel  and  called  upon  the  holy  man  to  give  me  a 
helping  hand. 

I  made  as  if  I  was  terrible  astonished,  and  that  night 
I  put  it  afore  Uncle  William  very  crafty. 

"  She'm  wife-old,"  I  said,  "  and  you  well  remember 
you  always  wanted  a  married  woman  to  look  after  you, 


216  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

so  'twill  fit  in  all  right.  And  you  know  better  than  I 
can  tell  that  you  wouldn't  be  without  Cherry  for  the 
world,  nor  yet  without  me,  so  there  it  lies." 

He  hadn't  got  much  kick  in  him  just  then,  along  of 
the  tissick  in  his  chest.  Therefore  he  soon  gave  in 
about  it. 

And  six  months  later  me  an'  Cherry  was  wedded,  to 
the  Wesleyan  chapel,  though  as  she  said,  she'd  far 
sooner  have  had  it  done  up  to  St.  Madron's  ruin. 

Never  a  word  of  the  great  adventure  did  she  hear  till 
our  marriage  night,  and  then  I  told  her,  but  it  didn't 
shake  her  faith  in  the  saint  —  nor  yet  in  me. 


THE  BETTER  MAN 

When  Julitta  Bunt  lost  her  husband  'twas  merely  a 
question  in  the  minds  of  St.  Tid  what  man  she  would 
take  next.  Not  that  she  had  ever  been  anything  but  a 
very  good  wife  to  the  poor  chap  ;  and,  indeed,  on  his 
death-bed  he  had  said  that  he'd  been  greatly  blessed  in 
her  and  was  cruel  sorry  to  leave  her  and  his  little  girl. 
Death  can  come  welcome  or  unwelcome,  as  the  case  may 
be;  and  in  Tom  Bunt's  case  it  weren't  welcome  by  any 
means,  for  he  was  only  eight  and  twenty,  in  the  fulness 
of  strength  and  prosperity,  with  a  fair  future  and  good 
money,  and  well  thought  of  at  the  slate  quarry,  where 
he  was  a  rockman.  The  rockmen,  of  course,  be  those 
who  go  down  into  the  pit  and  break  or  blast  out  the 
slate,  while  the  hillmen  be  those  that  work  above  at  the 
pappot  head,  or  in  the  slate  dressing  sheds,  or  at  the 
engines,  and  so  on. 

And  poor  Tom  Bunt,  in  the  course  of  his  regular 
business,  came  to  grief;  for  he'd  lit  off  a  fuse  and  was 
getting  clear  in  good  time,  as  he  thought,  when  some- 
thing went  wrong  and  tlie  charge  was  exploded  within 
ten  feet  of  him.  Even  then  only  one  rock  hit  him ;  but 
that  was  enough,  and  he  died  four  days  after,  leaving 
Julitta  and  his  little  three-year-old,  Betsy,  to  fend  for 
themselves. 

And  none  was  better  able  to  do  so  than  his  widow; 
for  she  was  a  comely  piece,  and  had  good  brains  and 

217 


218  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

held  her  head  liigh.  The  dark  sort  she  was,  with  a 
brave  colour  in  her  face,  and  brown  eyes  and  brown 
hair  to  match  'em.  A  quick,  decided  way  with  her  and 
a  good  conceit  of  herself;  but  it  never  ran  over  into 
pride,  for  she  was  sensible  and  self-respecting.  And 
another  virtue  she  had;  for  she  loved  a  bit  of  fun  and 
could  take  a  joke  in  the  right  spirit,  which  you'U  find  is 
a  very  rare  gift  in  any  woman  under  seventy. 

Four  and  twenty  was  Julitta  when  the  joy  of  her  life 
was  taken  from  her,  and  she  mourned  with  all  her  heart, 
and  kept  in  black  weekdays  as  well  as  Sundays,  and  put 
up  a  very  good  piece  of  St.  Tid  slate  to  Tom. 

A  man  or  two  offered  for  her  before  her  husband's 
grave  was  green ;  and  so  ashamed  of  'em  was  she  that 
they  could  lower  themselves  to  do  so,  that  she  told  'em 
that  if  they  were  worth  their  weight  in  gold  she  wouldn't 
take  such  indecent  creatures.  But  those  who  knew  a 
bit  about  her,  including  her  godfather,  old  Jimmy  Nute 
of  the  quarries,  rather  thought  that  it  was  going  to  be 
a  case  of  virtue  rewarded  for  Simon  Keat,  a  hillman  as 
worked  at  one  of  the  guillotines  in  a  dressing  shed.  He 
was  a  bachelor,  up  home  thirty  years  old,  a  fair  and 
flaxen  man,  and  very  famous  for  his  strength.  Simon 
felled  every  middleweight  wrestler  in  Cornwall  three 
years  running  and  few  heavyweights  had  ever  thrown 
him.  He  shone  also  as  a  stickler  [umpire]  ;  for  none 
beat  the  man  in  judgment  of  the  game,  or  in  his  sense 
of  justice.  He  was  a  very  quiet  and  unassuming  chap 
in  company,  and  oped  his  mouth  so  seldom  that  many 
people,  especially  the  females,  thought  him  a  bit  of  a 


THE  BETTER  MAN  219 

mumphead ;  but  it  weren't  so  by  any  means.  He  had  a 
lot  of  sense  and  a  fair  amount  of  general  knowledge, 
which  he'd  picked  up  thanks  to  his  habit  of  listening 
instead  of  talking. 

And  he  knew  liis  own  mind  very  well,  and  he'd  known 
ever  since  she  was  seventeen  that  he  wanted  to  marry 
Julitta.  On  his  twenty-second  birthday  he'd  first 
offered  to  do  so,  and  on  his  twenty-third  he  done  the 
same ;  and  he  meant  to  do  the  like  again  the  next  year, 
and  hoped  that  the  third  time  would  be  lucky.  But 
meanwhile  came  along  Tom  Bunt.  So  there  was  an  end 
of  Simon !  He  lost  with  good  grace,  for  he  was  a  level- 
minded  man  and  had  fine  sporting  instincts ;  but  he 
felt,  as  he  couldn't  have  Julitta,  that  he'd  go  without 
anybod}^  and  he  stopped  along  with  his  parents  quiet 
and  fairly  contented  with  his  lot,  and  he  was  always  a 
very  good  friend  to  the  Bunts. 

And  then  Julitta  came  in  the  market  again.  But 
Simon  held  off  in  a  very  gentlemanly  way ;  for  he  knew 
the  depth  of  her  grief,  and  not  only  as  a  matter  of 
proper  feeling  did  he  respect  it,  but  as  a  matter  of 
business  also,  because  it  quickly  came  out  what  she'd 
said  to  the  rash  men  who  thrust  in  with  offers  of  mar- 
riage upon  her  green  widowhood. 

So  he  waited,  and  just  gave  Julitta  the  time  of  day, 
and  brought  a  toy  for  little  Betsy  sometimes,  and 
planted  some  very  nice  pansies  of  his  own  raising  on 
Tom  Bunt's  grave.  But  more  than  that  he  didn't  do, 
and  she  liked  him  all  the  better  for  holding  off.  Indeed 
she'd  always  liked  him  ;  but  it  was  that  deadly  sort  of 
liking  that  can't  very  easy  quicken  into  anything  else. 


220  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

She  knew  his  game,  of  course,  and  had  plenty  of  time 
to  think  it  over  and  make  up  her  mind  about  the  future 
so  far  as  Simon  was  concerned.  And  then,  just  as  the 
young  woman  began  to  feel  it  had  to  be  and  was  getting 
herself  in  tune  to  the  necessary  effort  of  rising  to  love 
Simon  Keat,  there  rose  up  another  man  in  her  sight  — 
and  a  very  dazzling  figure  of  a  man  he  was. 

The  Nan  Julians  were  a  very  old  and  respected  family 
at  St.  Tid,  and  they  had  been  connected  with  the  quar- 
ries for  time  out  of  mind;  but  many  an  adventurous 
youth  among  'em  had  found  his  heart  beat  too  high 
for  North  Cornwall,  and  not  a  few,  after  learning  the 
quarryman's  business  at  home,  had  left  St.  Tid  for 
the  bigger  world  outside  and  gone  where  slate  was 
calling  to  be  worked.  Many  went  to  Wales ;  but  more 
to  Pennsylvania  in  America,  because  the  United  States 
have  got  the  greatest  slate  quarries  in  the  world, — 
same  as  they  have  everything  else  of  the  greatest, —  and 
in  Pennsylvania  this  day  you'll  find  more  St.  Tid  men 
and  women  than  in  St.  Tid  church  town  itself. 

Billy  Nanjulian  was  one  of  the  wandering  sort,  and 
he  went  to  his  uncle,  Paul  Nanjulian,  in  Pennsylvania 
and  got  good  work  there.  And  then,  just  at  the  crit- 
ical time  in  the  lives  of  Julitta  and  Simon,  back  came 
Billy  in  all  his  world-wide  wisdom  to  take  a  wife  from 
St.  Tid;  for  not  a  few  of  the  young  fellows  did  that, 
though  some  married  American  women  and  never  came 
home  no  more. 

The  truth  was  that  Master  Bilh'  had  wanted  to  do 
the  same;  and  we  heard  long  after,   through  another 


THE  BETTER  MAN  221 

source,  that  he'd  just  been  cold-shouldered  by  a  terrible 
clever  maiden  in  Pennsylvania,  who  saw  through  him  in 
time  for  her  own  salvation  and  found  it  was  her  father's 
dollars  and  not  she  herself  that  young  Nanjulian  was 
really  after.  She'd  hit  out  from  the  shoulder  after  that 
and  told  handsome  Billy  the  truth  about  his  character, 
and,  liking  it  little,  home  he'd  come  to  forget  her  and 
to  play  the  hero  a  bit  and  try  for  better  luck ;  for  he 
knew  that  he  was  terrible  good-looking  and  a  fair  mark 
for  the  women.  He  was  the  sort  of  man  the  females 
will  spoil,  who,  under  a  terrible  gracious  and  smiling 
way  and  great  humility  before  them,  hides  a  keen  look- 
out for  the  main  chance  and  a  determination  to  sell  him- 
self only  at  the  top  of  the  market.  And  that  the 
maiden  in  Pennsylvania  had  found  out  and  put  it  bitter 
clear  before  the  man;  so  he'd  come  home  to  heal  his 
bruises  and  see  if  there  was  anything  in  the  female  line 
worthy  of  him  in  his  birthplace. 

And  what  happened  surely  showed  that  there's  good 
in  every  man,  and  love  will  conquer  every  meaner 
passion  sometimes;  for  Nanjulian,  whatever  he'd  pre- 
tended before  to  other  females,  soon  found  himself 
properly  set  on  Julitta.  She  was  a  kinswoman  of  his 
on  the  spindle  side,  and  they  had  relations  in  common ; 
so  it  was  easy  for  him  to  see  a  lot  of  her.  He  was 
holiday-making  too,  and  afore  he'd  been  home  six  weeks 
his  one  aim  and  object  in  life  was  to  win  her  and  take 
her  back  along  to  Pennsylvania.  She  was  poor  as  a 
mouse  and  also  had  her  little  woman  child  to  keep ;  but 
he  didn't  care  for  that.  Though  a  man  of  common 
pattern  under  his  fine  outside,  love  her  he  did  with  the 


222  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

finest  worship  and  affection  of  which  he  was  capable, 
and  there's  no  doubt  that  Juhtta  took  a  very  great 
interest  and  liking  to  his  outside  from  the  first. 

A   splendid   man   he   was,  with   curly   hair   and   the 
strength  of  a  horse, —  one  of  they  broad-chested,  big 
fellows,  well  barrelled  up,  and  sturdy  as  an  oak  tree;  a 
dark,  blue-chinned  man,  who  shaved  twice  a  day  now 
he    was    courting,    and    wore    very    fine    clothes    from 
America  that  made  the  garments  of  St.  Tid  look  homely. 
A  diamond  ring  he  had  also,  and  other  adornments,  and 
the   chaps   of   St.   Tid,   as   run   rather  undersized  and 
slight  built,  looked  mere  go-by-the-grounds  seen  along- 
side  Master  Billy.     He  was   fond  of  sports   too,  and 
though  Simon  Keat  could  beat  him  at  wrestling,  none 
was    so    clever    as    the   returned   native   in   the   water. 
There  he  properly  shone, —  salt  or  fresh  'twas  all  the 
same  to  him, —  and  the  time  being  summer,  Nanjulian 
went  about  to  the  swimming  races,  where  they  was  held, 
and  made  a  great  show.     And  sometimes  Julitta  would 
go  along  with  him  and,  liking  him  very  well  by  now, 
was   pleased  to  hear  the  people  praise  his   cleverness. 
And  once  the  man  won  an  electro  teapot  and  begged 
her  to  take  it  for  a  keepsake ;  which  she  did  do. 

Of  course  Simon  Keat  marked  what  was  doing;  but 
by  a  curious  accident  he  didn't  take  it  near  so  serious 
as  the  case  required,  for  he  set  too  much  store  by 
Julitta's  sense,  and,  sizing  up  the  real  character  of  Billy 
Nanjulian  pretty  clever,  thought,  of  course,  that  the 
■nndow  had  done  the  same.     And  that's  where  he  made 


THE  BETTER  MAN 

a  big  mistake,  because,  witty  though  she  may  be,  and  a 
judge  of  character  too,  no  woman  looks  at  a  man  same 
as  a  man  looks  at  a  man.  Nature  prevents  that;  and 
when  you  add  the  complication  that  Billy  was  mad 
in  love  with  her  and  she  knew  it,  then  it's  plain  to  see 
Julitta  couldn't  regard  him  with  the  same  critical  sort 
of  view  that  Simon  did,  or  anybody  else. 

While  Keat,  therefore,  seeing  that  Billy  was  a  windy 
chap  without  much  behind  his  big  voice  and  big  talk, 
doubted  not  that  clever  Julitta  had  come  to  the  same 
conclusion,  the  truth  was  that  she  had  not.  She  was  a 
good  bit  attracted  to  the  stranger;  and  she  liked  what 
she  heard  about  Pennsylvania;  and  she  wasn't  sure 
but  what  she  agreed  with  him  when  he  told  her  that  she 
was  a  head  and  shoulders  too  fine  a  piece  to  waste  her 
cleverness  and  beauty  in  a  one-horse  hole  like  St.  Tid. 
He  had  large  views  about  money  too,  which  rather 
impressed  Julitta,  and  when  he  offered  for  her  he  said 
that  there  was  pretty  well  no  limit  to  his  earning  pow- 
ers, and  swore  that  with  him  to  make  the  dollars  and 
her  to  save  them,  there  was  little  doubt  that  a  very 
great  future  awaited  the  pair  of  'em  in  America.  For 
offer  he  did,  after  he'd  been  home  two  months ;  and  she 
said  no,  but  doubtful  like,  with  a  pretty  good  loophole 
for  him  to  try  again. 

And  then  it  was  that  old  Jimmy  Nute,  who  liked 
Simon  Keat  and  much  wanted  for  Julitta,  his  god- 
daughter, to  take  him,  rated  the  man  pretty  strongly 
for  holding  back  and  hanging  fire  in  the  face  of  dan- 
ger. 

"  Jimmery,"  said  old  Nute,  "  this  here  Bull  of  Bashan 


224  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

from  foreign  parts  will  properly  undo  you,  Simon,  if 
you  waste  more  time  about  it.  The  woman's  took  by 
him,  and  if  she's  not  keeping  company  wnth  the  noisy 
fellow,  'tis  the  next  thing  to  it.  And  properly  sorry 
I'd  be  to  see  that  happen.  And,  so  like  as  not,  all  your 
own  stupid  fault  for  holding  off  it  if  it  does." 

"  Billy  Nanjulian !  She  couldn't  do  it,  Jimmy,"  says 
Simon. 

"And  why  for  couldn't  she.?  "  axes  old  Nute. 
"  Women  be  cruel  clever  at  doing  the  things  men  say 
they  can't  do ;  and  for  all  her  brains,  she's  caught  by 
the  showy  creature,  and  'tis  your  business  to  go  ahead 
afore  Billy  lands  her.  There's  not  a  day  to  lose,  and 
'tis  touch  and  go  in  my  opinion,  if  you're  not  too  late 
a'ready." 

Simon  was  fairly  scared  at  that,  be  sure.  "  I  was 
waiting  for  my  birthday  to  come  round,"  he  said. 

"  Waiting  for  your  grandmother  to  come  round !  " 
answered  the  ancient  man,  who  had  a  wonderful  store  of 
fire  for  three  score  and  ten.  "  You  wait  no  more,  or 
you'll  wait  forever.  The  School  Treat's  tomorrow, 
and  all  the  children  are  going  to  be  took  to  King 
Arthur's  Castle,  at  Tintagel ;  so  you  go  too,  and  run 
her  to  earth  as  best  you  can.  And  don't  take  no  for 
an  answer,  else  I'll  never  speak  to  you  no  more  —  nor 
her  either !  " 

"  I  be  going,"  confessed  Simon.  "  Me  and  a  good 
few  men  from  our  chapel  are  going  to  look  after  the 
boys." 

"  You  look  after  my  goddaugther,"  advised  Jimmy 
Nute,  "  and  if  the  big  fellow  comes  to  queer  your  pitch, 


THE  BETTER  MAN  225 

give  him  a  proper  Cornish  hug.  Don't  you  stand  no 
nonsense  from  him,  nor  yet  from  Julitta.  Be  a  man 
afore  her!  " 

For  a  modest  chap,  such  as  Simon  Keat,  the  prospect 
looked  very  unpleasant.  'Twas  a  great  shock  to  hear 
that  Julitta  felt  a  liking  for  Billy ;  but  of  course  he 
didn't  blame  her,  and  doubted  not  that  the  stranger's 
big  talk  about  the  States  had  rather  deceived  Mrs. 
Bunt  as  to  his  true  character.  Anyway,  he  ordained 
to  follow  Jimmy's  advice  and  lose  no  more  time. 

The  United  Methodists  had  their  School  Treat  next 
day,  and  Simon,  with  a  lot  of  other  grown-up  members, 
made  holiday  to  help  give  the  young  'uns  a  bit  of  fun. 
Julitta  was  taking  Betsy,  he  knew,  and  he  laid  himself 
out  to  oet  in  the  same  two-horse  brake  with  them,  when 
the  start  was  made  from  St.  Tid.  But  he  failed  there. 
And  what  was  worse  than  the  failure  followed  immedi- 
ately;  for  he  found  that  Billy  Nanjulian  was  coming. 
Among  Billy's  other  gifts  was  a  pretty  touch  on  the 
cornet.  He  was  a  great  musicker  in  fact,  and  he  sat 
alongside  the  driver  of  Julitta's  brake  and  from  time 
to  time  played  American  music  that  made  the  feet 
of  the  children  properly  tingle  to  be  dancing.  And 
Julitta,  from  under  her  eyelashes,  admired  the  back  of 
his  head  no  doubt. 

The  School  Treat,  simply  regarded  as  such,  was  a 
very  great  success ;  but  the  event  itself  was  of  course 
quite  swallowed  up  and  forgotten  by  the  far-famed 
thing  what  happened  at  it. 

Tintagel  is  a  very  fine  spot,  and  the  ruins  of  King 


226  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Arthur's  Castle  still  rise  up  on  a  bluff  for  all  the  world 
to  see.  The  land  runs  out  into  a  knob  over  the  ocean, 
with  hugeous  precipices  roundabout,  and  part  of  the 
castle  stands  here  —  just  a  door  and  a  window  or  two, 
and  broken-down  walls  all  covered  with  stone-crops  and 
the  like.  And  foxgloves  grow  bravely  there,  and  the 
sheep  browse  on  the  parlous  places  at  cliff  edge,  and  the 
seagulls  build  their  nests  in  crannies  and  on  the  ledges 
of  the  cliffs.  You'll  see  a  red-legged  Cornish  chough 
there  too  sometimes ;  though  that  fine  bird  be  grown 
terrible  scarce  of  late.  'Tis  like  a  slim,  well  made  crow, 
with  scarlet  beak  and  legs,  and  there's  an  old,  fond  tale 
as  saj's  how  King  Arthur  was  turned  into  one  when  he 
died  —  not  that  I  hold  with  nonsense  like  that  being 
told  to  the  young  people;  though  nowadays,  of  course, 
they  wouldn't  believe  it. 

A  fine  afternoon  they  had  for  their  fun,  and  the  sea 
being  smooth  as  glass,  which  it  seldom  is  on  these  savage 
shores,  a  few  boats  put  out,  and  to  add  to  their  pleasure 
a  lot  of  boys  and  girls  went  out  fishing,  to  see  if  they 
could  catch  a  poUack  or  two.  Then,  after  the  great 
business  of  tea,  Simon  Keat,  who  had  eyes  for  one  alone, 
saw  the  folk  scatter,  and  marked  where  Julitta,  wander- 
ing aside  with  her  little  one,  had  crossed  the  steep  place 
to  King  Arthur's  Castle.  He  saw  them  again  presently 
on  the  top  of  the  grassy  down  above  the  ruins ;  and  he 
knew  it  was  them  because,  though  Julitta  looked  like 
anybody  else  at  that  distance,  her  little  Betsy,  in  a 
bnght,  scarlet  frock,  could  be  seen  for  a  mile. 

With  that,  his  work  done  for  a  moment,  Keat  started 
the  boys  playing  cricket,  and  then  slipped  off  after 


THE  BETTER  MAN  227 

Julitta.  The  day  and  the  time  didn't  seem  to  him 
overmuch  suited  to  such  a  delicate  piece  of  work;  but 
he'd  got  Jimmy  Nute's  warning  ringing  in  his  ears,  and 
so  he  took  his  chance  and  delayed  no  more. 

But  the  fact  was,  as  came  out  after,  that  Julitta  had 
gone  to  a  lonely  spot  on  t'other  side  of  King  Arthur's 
Head  to  be  out  of  sight  of  the  land  and  to  meet  some- 
body else.  'Twas  Billy  Nanjulian's  idea,  and  he'd  bade 
her  slip  off  that  way  and  promised  to  follow  after.  A 
lew  corner  she  found,  and  watched  the  sun  begin  to  come 
down  to  the  sea,  while  Betsy  picked  the  purple  sea 
lavender  as  grew  there  and  made  a  little  nosegay  of 
flowers  and  gulls'  feathers  for  her  mother. 

Julitta  knew  what  was  coming,  and  this  time  she 
intended  to  say  yes.  Deep  in  thought  she  was,  with  the 
great,  shining  sea  spread  afore  her  and  the  music  of  the 
birds  and  the  glory  of  the  evening  catching  fire  from  the 
sun.  And  then  she  heard  a  man's  footstep  just  behind 
the  stone  where  she  sat,  and  lifted  her  head,  and  smiled, 
and  saw  —  Simon  ! 

He  was  there  only  ten  minutes  before  Billy ;  but  ten 
minutes  proved  quite  long  enough  to  do  his  business. 

'Twas  like  old  times,  and  when  she  refused  him  gently, 
it  seemed  to  Simon  as  if  the  years  had  rolled  back  and 
it  was  his  twenty-second  birthday  again.  She  respected 
him  something  wonderful,  and  was  always  going  to  be  a 
friend  to  him  in  the  future,  as  she  had  been  in  the  past, 
and  so  on.  But  she  felt,  taking  it  all  round,  that  he 
wasn't  the  husband  for  her,  and  was  sure  she'd  never 
make  him  half  so  happy  as  he  deserved  to  be.  A  bit 
more  to  the  same  purpose  she  said.     In  fact,  she  talked 


228  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

more  about  it  than  Simon  did.     He  only  listened  with 
his  mouth  open. 

And  then  came  along  the  conquering  hero  and  told 
Simon  very  pleasantly  that  two  was  company  and  three 
none;  and  Simon,  a  man  of  amazing  self-possession, 
took  it  very  quiet,  and  was  just  going  off  with  his 
tail  between  his  legs,  when  that  happened  to  stay  his 
steps. 

Keat  had  got  his  back  turned  and  was  slouching 
away,  and  Billy  had  just  axed  Julitta  if  she  knew  what 
he  was  going  to  tell  her,  when  a  sound  louder  than  the 
seagulls  struck  her  ears,  and  the  mother  knew  what  it 
meant  if  the  men  did  not. 

"  'Tis  Betsy !  "  she  screamed  out.  "  Oh,  my  God ! 
she's  over  the  cliff !  " 

And  true  it  was.  Along  of  her  own  affairs,  Julitta 
had  forgot  all  about  the  little  one,  and,  seeing  her  red 
frock  a  minute  before  close  at  hand,  forgot  how  far  a 
child  can  go  in  half  a  minute.  The  three  of  them  rushed 
down  a  steep  place,  and  then  the  men  went  over  a  ledge 
or  two  and  the  woman  scrambled  after  them.  The  gulls 
properly  shouted  at  'em  and  swung  about  across  their 
ears  very  near  close  enough  to  touch  'em  with  their 
wings ;  and  some  of  the  birds  laughed,  as  sea  birds  will, 
and  it  sounded  as  if  they  was  laughing  at  their  trouble. 
For  forty  feet  and  more  below,  down  in  the  green 
water,  like  a  red  poppy  in  a  cornfield,  was  the  babby. 

"  Thank  God  'tis  you!  "  said  Simon  to  t'other  man. 
"  'Tis  a  Providence  you  was  sent !  " 

He  thought  Billy  would  be  in  the  water  afore  he  could 


THE  BETTER  MAN  2S9 

finish  speaking ;  but  he  thought  wrong.  'Twas  neck  or 
nothing,  of  course,  and  a  good  chance  of  death  for  any 
man  to  dive  down ;  but  that  had  not  struck  Simon. 
It  didn't  miss  Billy,  however  —  doubtless  because  he 
was  far  cleverer  in  the  sea  than  the  other  man. 

"  'Tis  a  million  to  one  she's  dead,"  he  said,  and  then 
he  turned  so  white  as  a  dog's  tooth.  "  'Tis  no  use  los- 
ing two  lives  for  one.  I'll  run  round  to  the  boats.  'Tis 
the  only  chance.  No  man  could  go  over  there  and 
live !  " 

Ot  course  such  a  clever  chap  was  quite  right,  and 
Simon  ought  to  have  took  his  word  for  it.  But  there 
was  the  blessed  child  sinking  and  the  mother  screaming 
fit  to  split  the  cliffs,  and,  what  with  one  thing  and 
another,  before  Billy  had  gone  ten  yards  on  his  errand 
of  mercy,  young  Keat  took  off  his  coat  and  his  shoes 
and  went  over. 

'Twas  a  fearful  drop  for  a  full-grown  man ;  but  he 
kept  his  wits,  and  hit  the  water  with  his  hands  well 
together  over  his  head.  And  Julitta  saAv  him  sink  like 
a  stone  not  three  yards  from  her  child  —  and  she  always 
said  after  that  her  hair  began  to  grow  grey  between 
the  time  that  Simon  went  under  and  the  time  he  come 
up  again.  She  thought  he'd  struck  the  bottom  and 
stopped  there;  but  up  he  rose  presently,  like  a  cor- 
morant, five  yards  from  where  he  went  in,  and  blew  the 
water  from  his  lips  and  shook  his  head  and  saw  the  child 
and  got  to  her.  Meantime  Master  Billy,  a  bit  sur- 
prised to  find  that  Keat  wasn't  at  his  shoulder,  did  a 
very  fine  bit  of  running  indeed,  and  when  he  got  to  the 
beach  under  the  castle  he  did  a  fine  bit  of  rowing  also 


230  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

and  properly  knocked  the  wind  out  of  a  sailorman  that 
helped  him.  Fifteen  minutes  it  was  from  the  time  that 
Betsy  tumbled  over  the  cliff  to  the  time  the  boat  came 
alongside  her  —  time  enough  for  a  babby  to  drown 
thrice  over.  She  was  quicklj^  took  out  of  Simon's  arms 
and  put  into  the  boat.  And  then  Simon  was  pulled  in 
himself;  for  he'd  had  to  keep  afloat  all  the  time,  because 
there  was  no  landing  place ;  only  deep  water  to  the  foot 
of  the  great,  dawn-facing  cliffs. 

And  all  Simon  said,  when  he  catched  his  wind,  was  to 
bellow  up  to  Julitta,  "  The  little  child's  alive !  " 

And  the  boatman  said,  "  Thank  God  the  sea  was 
smooth,  else  you'd  have  been  broke  to  mincemeat  against 
the  rocks." 

And  Billy  didn't  say  nothing  at  all  —  a  very  un- 
usual thing  for  him  to  do.  The  child  was  insensible; 
but  she  lived  and  got  over  it.  They  emptied  the  water 
out  of  her,  and  the  sailor  worked  at  her,  and  she  came  to 
afore  they  landed.  And  she  knew  her  mother  when 
Julitta  got  her  arms  round  her. 

Providence  is  stronger  than  us,  you  see,  and  'twas  no 
good  Billy  planning  to  wed  Julitta  after  Providence  had 
meant  for  Simon  to  do  so.  And  I'm  sure  nobody  but 
Providence  could  have  thought  of  such  a  way  to  head 
off  that  pushing  man.  Indeed,  Billy  weren't  done  with 
yet,  and  two  days  later,  when  Betsy  was  out  of  danger 
and  amazing  little  the  worse  for  her  fearful  shock, 
Nanjulian  went  into  Mrs.  Bunt's  so  bold  as  brass  with 
a  fine  new  toy  for  the  child. 

He  hadn't  seen  her  since  the  adventure,  and  she'd 


THE  BETTER  MAN  231 

never  thanked  him  for  all  he'd  done,  and  she  didn't 
even  now ;  for  women  be  very  unreasoning  toads, 
especially  where  their  childer's  concerned.  She  forgot 
all  Nan  Julian's  trouble,  I  do  believe,  and  just  because 
he  wouldn't  go  over  the  cliff  at  danger  of  his  precious 
life,  her  opinions  entirely  changed  about  the  man. 

"  Now  we'll  start  where  we  left  off  when  Betsy  had 
her  adventure,"  began  Billy,  cheerful  as  ever. 

"  And  Simon  Keat  risked  his  life  for  her,"  said 
Julitta,  "  and  you  turned  white." 

"  That's  as  may  be,"  began  William,  little  liking  her 
tone  of  voice ;  but  she  saved  him  further  doubts. 

"  You'd  best  to  hear  my  news  first,"  she  said. 
"  You're  a  very  fine  swimmer,  Mr.  Nan  Julian,  and  have 
won  a  score  of  prizes ;  but  the  prize  that  Simon  Keat 
won  was  more  to  me  than  ^^our  plated  teapot.  And  'tis 
there  wrapped  up  in  paper  for  you.  I'm  going  to  ask 
you  to  take  it  back  again,  because  I  shan't  have  no  use 
for  it  now.  'Twould  choke  me  to  drink  out  of  it,  I  be- 
lieve. And  I'm  going  to  marry  Simon.  And  I  stepped 
over  to  his  house  and  told  him  so  this  morning  before  he 
went  to  work.  He  wished  it,  and  one  good  turn 
deserves  another,  and  'tis  the  very  least  I  can  do,  in  my 
opinion." 

So  that  dashing  Billy  was  disappointed  in  love  once 
more. 

Old  Jimmy  Nute  declared  himself  terrible  pleased 
about  it.  "  I  told  you  to  be  a  man  afore  her,  and  you 
was,"  he  said  to  Simon,  "  and  she  knew  a  man  when  she 
saw  one ;  so  you  got  her." 

Keat  also  had  his  little  joke  over  Billy  Nan  Julian  in 


232  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

after  years.  "  A  mighty  fine  hero,  sure  enough,  and  a 
much  greater  swimmer  than  me  of  course;  but  he 
couldn't  dive  so  well,  could  he,  Julitta?  " 

Mrs.  Keat  had  three  children,  all  boys;  but  I  do 
believe,  and  so  did  she,  that  her  husband  was  just  as 
fond  of  her  first. 

"  And  well  I  may  be,"  he'd  say  to  his  wife ;  "  for  if 
there'd  been  no  Betsy  for  you,  there'd  have  been  no 
Julitta  for  me." 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD 

We  was  sifting  sense  and  exchanging  our  opinions  at 
"  The  One  and  All "  public-house,  kept  by  Richard 
Male;  and,  according  to  the  custom  of  St.  Tid,  we 
differed  a  good  bit  about  deep  questions  and  the  right 
way  and  the  wrong  way  to  read  'em. 

Sidney  Nosworthy,  second  foreman  at  the  slate 
quarries,  started,  as  usual,  on  one  of  them  tricky  prob- 
lems, so  easy  to  solve  at  first  sight  and  such  a  puzzler 
when  you  fairly  tackle  it.  He  was  great  for  putting 
posers  to  the  company,  having  a  quick  mind  and  a  very 
romantic  disposition.  And  he  could  sing,  along  with 
his  other  gifts ;  but  as  a  local  preacher  he  wasn't  in  the 
first  flight.  He'd  start  very  clever,  but  one  tiling 
always  led  to  another  with  Sidney,  when  he  was  preach- 
ing, and  he'd  go  off,  like  a  feather  in  a  gale  of  wind,  and 
pile  words  on  words  until  the  idea  he  started  out  with 
was  properly  lost  under  the  mass  of  'em.  Then  he'd 
try  back,  and  hunt  about  and  get  messed  up,  though  all 
in  beautiful  language;  but  no  more  use  to  the  soul  than 
cheese-cakes  to  a  pig.  Not  but  what  his  doctrine  was 
sound.  In  all  his  flights  he  never  said  anything  he 
didn't  ought ;  but  there  was  nothing  to  it,  if  you  under- 
stand me.  'Twas  like  starting  to  let  down  a  glass  of  ale 
and  finding  a  tumbler  of  froth. 

Often,  however,  he'd  start  solider  men  on  the  track 

of  a  notion,  and  sometimes  his  questions  would  lead  to 

233 


234.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

a  good  tale,  or  put  one  of  our  older  members  in  mind 
of  something  worth  repeating.  And  so  it  was  on  this 
particular  night,  for  when  Sidney  raised  a  nice  point,  it 
minded  me  liow  the  very  same  kicklish  question  had 
come  before  me  in  a  critical  case,  and  what  I'd  done 
about  it. 

"  There's  lots  of  questions  in  this  world  that  can 
only  be  answered  in  the  next,"  so  Nosworthy  was  say- 
ing, and  old  Moses  Bunt,  who  always  contradicted  him 
on  principle,  and  everybody  else,  too,  for  that  matter, 
denied  it. 

"  There's  no  question  ever  comes  up  an  understanding 
human  can't  answer,"  he  replied ;  "  and  because  you 
see  a  lot  of  things  happen  to  puzzle  you,  it  don't  follow 
that  a  bald-headed  old  ancient  man,  like  me,  would  be 
puzzled. 

"  Because  you  wouldn't  have  enough  brains  to  under- 
stand the  question,"  answered  Sidney,  who  much  dis- 
liked old  Bunt.  "  No  doubt  you'd  answer  it.  You're 
the  sort  would  always  think  you  knew.  But  would  you^ 
answer  right .^  Look  here,  now:  be  it  ever  proper  to 
break  3'our  promise  to  the  dead?  That's  what  I  want 
to  know ;  and  don't  you  think,  because  it  looks  so  mighty 
easy,  that  it  is." 

"  If  it  ain't  easy,  then  you're  no  Christian,"  retorted 
Bunt  upon  Sidney.  "  For  my  part  I  never  heard  any- 
thing easier,  and  the  man  who  can  be  in  doubt  about  it 
idden  no  friend  of  mine." 

"  Not  that  I  ever  heard  anybody  ever  wanted  to  be," 
answered  Nosworthy,  who  was  far  too  quick  of  tongue 
for  Moses.     "  But  since  it's  so  terrible  easy,  perhaps 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  235 

you'll  give  us  the  answer,  and  see  if  we  be  all  of  one  mind 
about  it." 

"  The  answer  is,"  declared  Bunt,  holding  out  his  pint 
pot  for  Richard  Male  to  fill  again  —  "  the  answer  is 
'  No.'  Never  under  any  manner  of  chances,  no  matter 
what  the  size  of  'em,  did  a  mortal  man  ought  to  lie  to 
the  dead." 

I  listened  and  said  nought,  while  they  all  agreed  with 
Moses,  except  Nosworthy.  He  didn't  disagree,  neither, 
but  wouldn't  let  it  go  at  that. 

"  You  may  be  in  the  right,"  he  allowed,  "  but  there's 
a  lot  might  happen,  and  we  know  that  the  spirit  often 
conflicts  with  the  letter  and  the  letter  with  the  spirit," 

But  Moses  wouldn't  hear  it. 

"  A  lie's  a  lie,"  he  said,  "  and  a  lie  to  them  in  their 
graves  be  the  wickedest,  cowardest  sort  of  lie.  No  fay 
—  nothing  ever  could  happen  to  make  it  right.  And 
him  as  told  such  a  lie  would  go  haunted  to  1  's  own 
grave  without  a  doubt." 

'Twas  just  candle-teening,  I  remember,  and  Richard 
Male  struck  a  light  as  I  spoke. 

"  I'm  with  Sidney,"  I  said,  "  and  I'm  as  old  as  you, 
Moses,  so  you  may  take  it  I  don't  differ  for  the  sake 
of  differing.  There's  times,"  I  said,  "  when  it  might 
be  in  seemly  good  reason  to  break  your  promise  to  a 
dead  man;  and  I  don't  say  it  lightly,  for  it  happened 
to  me,  and  so  you  may  be  sure  I've  had  to  face  the 
trouble  in  a  way  none  of  you  chaps  ever  had,  or  ever  be 
likely    to   have." 

They  was  terrible  interested,  for  I'm  a  silent  member, 
as  a  rule,  and  would  sooner  list  than  tell. 


236  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Then  Nosworth}-  said  one  of  the  cleverest  things  that 
ever  he  did  say. 

"  To  break  a  promise  might  be  the  best  way  to  keep 
it  sometimes,"  he  declared,  and  all  the  other  men  thought 
he  was  only  talking  foolishness ;  but  with  my  experience 
behind  me,  I  knew  'twas  a  very  deep  saying. 

'Twas  a  bit  backalong  and  beyond  the  memory  of 
most  of  'em;  but  Moses  Bunt  remembered  the  parties, 
and  when  I  named  Benjamin  Nute,  a  scornful  expression 
came  in  his  countenance. 

"  That  antic,"  he  said.  "  Who  wants  to  hear  tell 
about   him?  " 

He'd  been  a  quarryman,  Ben  had  —  one  of  the  rock- 
men,  as  we  call  'em  —  and  his  work  had  took  him  down 
into  the  pit.  He  served  the  drill  very  clever;  but  not 
the  air-drill  which  is  in  use  nowadays.  In  Ben's  time 
it  was  all  hand  work,  and  he'd  make  the  holes  for  gun- 
powder or  dynamite,  as  the  need  happened  to  be,  and 
always  knew  by  a  sort  of  instinct  where  to  put  'em. 
He  was  ever  the  last  to  run  from  the  lighted  fuse,  when 
the  whistle  went  for  a  blasting,  and  he  took  a  bit  of  risk, 
too,  sometimes  —  to  put  a  little  salt  in  his  life,  as  he 
said.  For  he  was  a  man  much  like  Nosworthy  in  a 
fashion,  and  had  ideas  beyond  quarrying,  and  felt  a 
pleasure  in  bud-break  and  the  fall  of  the  leaf,  and  other 
such-like  everyday  things,  that  most  folk  don't  heed 
more  than  a  cow  heeds  the  rain. 

Then  came  salt  into  Ben's  life  with  a  vengeance  — 
and  pepper  and  mustard,  too.  And  they  took  the  usual 
shape,  for  the  thing  that  be  sure  to  hit  that  dreamy, 
fanciful  sort  of  chap  sooner  or  later  is  a  female ;  and  a 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  237 

girl  it  was  that  taught  Master  Ben  how  life  had  some- 
thing in  it  more  exciting  than  gunpowder,  or  even 
d^mamite.  They  be  poor  explosives,  after  all,  com- 
pared to  the  "  weaker  sex,"  as  some  joker  have  called 
'em ;  and,  for  that  matter,  women  varies  in  their  powers 
of  a  bust-up  just  so  much  as  black  powder  and  nitro- 
glycerine, or  that  terror  by  the  name  of  cordite.  For 
the  powder  heaves  gently,  and  the  dynamite  scats  all 
abroad  like  the  lightning,  and  the  cordite  properly  puts 
the  house  out  of  windows  and  shakes  a  man  to  his  boot- 
soles  and  turns  the  cliff-face  into  dust. 

Janet  she  was  called,  one  of  the  Parsons  family, 
and  she  had  two  brothers  rock-men,  and  her  father  was 
in  the  dressing-sheds  —  a  slate-splitter  and  a  very  clever 
man.  They  were  a  fiery  race,  dark-haired  and  red- 
faced,  and  good  chapel  people,  save  Janet,  who  always 
minched  when  she  could.  But  she  loved  singing,  and 
was  a  great  loss  to  the  chapel  choir.  Like  a  bird  she 
could  trill ;  but  hadn't  no  use  for  Wesley's  hymns,  more 
shame  to  her.  She  properly  beat  her  family  and  went 
her  own  way,  and  was  a  lazy,  lovely  good-for-nothing. 
Vain,  too.  She'd  frape  herself  in  at  the  waist  like  a 
wasp,  and  crimp  her  hair  and  read  story-books ;  but 
no  wickedness  was  in  her  —  only  foolishness.  Her 
father,  Harry  Parsons,  spoiled  her  from  the  cradle  and 
never  chid  her,  so  it  wasn't  her  fault  altogether.  Her 
mother  was  dead,  and  she  looked  after  her  father  and 
brothers. 

Then  she  got  acquainted  with  Ben  Nute.  There  was 
a  field  where  a  bull  was  wont  to  run  down  under  Mel- 
rose, which  be  a  part  of  St.  Tid,  and  Ben  he  often  went 


238  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

that  way  and  crossed  the  field,  just  for  the  salt  of  the 
thing.  And  once  the  bull  was  there  and  pressed  him 
hard;  but  he  escaped.  Then,  passing  that  way,  in  a 
mild  hope  the  creature  might  be  round-about,  he  met  a 
girl  fleeing  to  him  in  a  proper  terror  with  the  bull 
behind  her.  But  Ben  kept  his  wits,  and  bade  her  inin 
for  her  life,  and  got  between  her  and  the  bull ;  and  then 
Nute  ran  t'other  way  and  put  Bulley  in  two  minds,  and 
by  the  time  he'd  decided  and  was  off  with  his  head  down 
after  the  girl  again,  she'd  got  to  the  hedge  and 
scrambled  through  it. 

Ben  saw  her  home  after  that,  and,  being  very  well 
known  to  her  brothers  as  a  good  sort,  they  asked  him  to 
tea  come  Sunday ;  and  he  went. 

It  began  like  that,  and  in  a  month,  or  six  weeks,  him 
and  Janet  was  walking  out.  Not  tokened,  of  course, 
nor  nothing  like  that,  but  just  to  size  each  other  up  and 
see  what  they  thought  of  one  another's  ideas. 

I  wouldn't  say  'twas  all  one  way  by  any  means,  for 
she  liked  him  a  lot  from  the  first,  and  though  the  poetry 
in  the  man  puzzled  her,  she  thought  it  rather  fine ;  and 
she  liked  a  lot  else  about  him,  including  his  dark  eyes 
and  deep  voice.  Besides,  he  was  given  to  doubting 
accepted  things,  and  disinclined  to  believe  a  plan  was 
right  just  because  it  had  been  followed  for  hundreds  of 
3'ears.  A  bit  of  a  rebel,  in  fact,  and  that  alone  drew 
Janet.  She  loved  to  hear  him  laugh  at  the  accepted 
order  of  creation  at  St.  Tid,  and,  finding  she  wasn't 
bound  down  to  things  as  they  were,  he  opened  out  a 
bit  and  fairly  astonished  her  with  his  opinions,  for  he 
was   a  man  of  gentle  nature.     But  he  frightened  her 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  239 

also,  and  when  she  told  her  father  how  terrible  bold  Ben 
Nute  could  be,  the  man  was  properly  shocked,  and 
advised  Janet  to  steer  clear  of  such  a  rash  and  reckless 
thinker.  So  she  kept  her  mouth  shut  after  that;  and 
then  Ben,  who  was  chin-deep  in  love  by  noAv,  offered 
himself  and  proposed  marriage,  and  said  that  if  she'd 
come  and  live  along  with  him  and  his  old  mother,  she'd 
never  repent  it.  Janet  didn't  want  no  old  mothers, 
however;  but,  of  course,  she  couldn't  say  so,  and  as 
Mrs.  Nute  was  a  very  ailing  woman  and  might  drop  any 
time,  she  didn't  let  that  stand  in  the  way  for  the  moment. 
She'd  got  conditions  to  put,  but  felt  it  wasn't  the  time, 
besides  being  perfectly  sure  he'd  fall  in  with  them  when 
she  liked  to  name  them.  And  so,  loving  the  man  very 
well  for  the  minute,  she  took  him,  and  he  said,  "  Glory 
be !  "  and  walked  on  air. 

Ben  certainly  did  love  her  with  all  his  heart,  and  she 
knew  it,  and  doubted  not  she'd  be  able  to  twist  him 
round  her  finger  as  easily  as  her  wedding-ring  when  the 
time  came. 

But  it  never  did,  and  the  path  of  his  true  love  ran 
skew  from  the  start.  He'd  hardly  got  Janet  afore  he 
lost  her  again,  and  that  in  a  very  unexpected  fashion. 
For  when  it  came  to  the  conditions,  much  to  her  sui*prise 
and  mine,  for  that  matter  —  because  I  was  his  friend 
and  knew  his  secrets  —  he  couldn't  see  his  way. 

She  asked  for  a  thing  you  might  have  thought,  know- 
ing Ben,  he'd  have  found  as  easy  as  splitting  slate ; 
and  yet,  such  is  the  contrariness  of  human  nature,  he 
wouldn't  agree,  for  all  his  love.  My  own  impression 
is  that  it  were  less  the  thing  than  Janet's  manner  of 


240  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

asking  for  it;  and  yet,  again,  that's  doubtful,  too,  for 
jou'd  never  have  thought  he  could  have  denied  her.  It 
showed  guiding  strings  deep  down  in  his  nature  and 
an  instinct  that  was  stronger  than  his  love.  In  a  word, 
she  wanted  Ben  to  promise  he'd  up  stick  and  away  from 
St.  Tid  the  minute  his  mother  was  teeled.-*^ 

"  You'll  be  so  glad  to  go  as  me,  I  reckon,"  she  told 
the  man.  "  I'm  sick  to  death  of  this  stuffy  hole,  and 
want  to  go  to  America.  There's  more  Comislimen  in 
Pennsylvania  slate  quarries  than  at  St.  Tid  nowadays, 
and  I'm  for  America  —  so  you've  got  to  promise  to 
chuck  St.  Tid.  You'll  have  a  bit  of  cash  when  your 
mother  dies,  I  suppose,  so  there  you  are ;  and  I've  a 
right  to  ax  it  and  I  do  ax  it." 

He  allowed  she'd  a  right  to  ax,  and  added  that  he'd 
a  right  to  refuse ;  but  this  she  didn't  see,  and  I  be- 
lieve from  the  very  first  minute,  she  felt  he  was  not 
going  to  do  her  bidding  in  that  particular.  They  talked 
for  and  against  for  a  week,  and  then  Janet  put  it  to 
her  father,  and  he  sided  with  Ben.  She'd  told  Mr. 
Parsons  and  her  brothers  that,  if  they'd  got  a  bit  of 
pluck,  they'd  come  too ;  but  her  father  was  well  up  at 
St.  Tid,  and  Ben  himself  stood  to  be  under-foreman  in 
five  years,  so  they  was  both  against  her,  and  though  her 
brothers  were  willing  enough  to  go,  she  couldn't  go 
without  a  husband. 

Then  she  turned  nasty. 

"  You're  a  silly  old  buffle-head,"  she  said  to  Ben. 
"  We  can't  all  bide  here  for  ever,  like  mites  in  a  cheese, 
1  Teeled.     Buried. 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  Ml 

and  if  I'd  known  you  were  so  mean-spirited,  I'd  never 
have  taken  you  —  no  fay,  I  woiildn't." 

"  Use  your  sense,"  he  answered.  "  You  be  the 
wittiest  woman  in  St.  Tid,  and  I  can't  believe  my  ears  to 
hear  you  telling  so  foolish." 

He  was  patience  made  alive  with  her,  for  he  loved  the 
ground  she  walked  upon ;  but  he  felt,  with  his  position 
and  prospects,  it  would  be  a  great  mistake  to  leave  St. 
Tid  for  her  sake.  But  she  wouldn't  hear  him,  and  took 
a  very  scornful  line  indeed,  and  ridiculed  him  for  a 
stay-at-home  gawk,  with  no  more  sense  than  a  silly 
school-girl.  Then  his  pride  and  his  love  clashed  a  bit, 
and  afore  one  had  got  the  bettermost  of  the  other,  a 
startling  thing  happened.  The^^'d  had  another  long 
wrangle,  and  when  he  came  into  my  cottage  a  few  days 
later,  I  could  see  he  was  pretty  well  beat  about  it.  He 
axed  my  advice  —  a  thing  no  sensible  man  offers  to 
lovers  any  more  than  he  would  to  married  people  —  but 
I  felt  a  bit  hot  for  him,  because  the  girl  had  been  calling 
him  rude  names  and  showing  a  very  unamiable  tem- 
per, and  so  I  said  that,  if  he  wanted  my  view,  he  could 
have  it. 

"  You've  got  your  self-respect,  I  believe,  Ben,"  I 
said,  "  and  there's  few  things  be  worse  to  lose,  especially 
for  a  married  man.  Don't  you  stand  it,  and  don't  you 
hear  no  more  about  it.  If  she's  going  to  put  her  fun 
and  love  of  gadding  before  your  welfare  and  her  future 
prosperit}',  then  she's  a  fool.  You  take  my  tip  and 
hold  off  her  altogether  for  a  month,  and  let  her  silly 
head  cool,  and  let  her  see  what  life's  like  without  you. 


M2  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

And  then,  when  next  you  go  walking,  and  she  begins  on 
it  again  —  but  there,  she  won't.  She'll  know,  if  you 
hold  off,  you're  niffed  ^  and  she'll  be  sorry,  and  tread  a 
bit  softer  in  future." 

"  'Tis  as  much  for  her  sake  I'm  firm  as  for  my 
own,"  explained  poor  Ben.  "  I'm  thinking  of  her 
future,  and  I'll  never  go  so  high  in  a  new  place  as  I 
shall  here;  besides,  money  don't  run  half  so  far  out 
there.  All  the  chaps  that  come  back  will  tell  you 
that." 

He  talked  sensible,  but  did  the  other  thing.  He 
started  to  take  my  advice,  and  it  played  the  very  mis- 
chief with  him,  which  I'll  own,  for  after  he'd  kept  away 
from  her  for  a  week,  he  was  fairly  dying  of  love  for  the 
girl,  and  the  experiment  was  hurting  him  a  lot  worse 
than  her.  It  made  him  lose  his  self-respect,  which  was 
just  what  I  wanted  to  save  for  him,  and  it  made  her 
properly  wicked.  In  fact,  her  love  was  a  pretty  poor 
sample,  in  my  opinion,  and  didn't  stand  the  strain  he 
put  on  it.  He  stuck  to  it  for  a  fortnight,  and  then 
called  on  me  late  one  evening ;  in  a  fearful  frame  of  mind 
he  was,  with  perspiration  fairly  streaming  down  his 
face  and  his  heart  broken. 

"  It's  all  over,"  he  said.     "  I've  done  it  now." 

"  Begin  at  the  beginning,"  I  answered,  "  and  take  a 
dollop  of  spirits  afore  you  start.  You'm  wisht  as  a 
winnard,  and  your  eyes  be  bulging." 

"  I've  seen  her.  I've  just  left  her.  I've  told  her  I 
can't  live  like  this  no  more,  and  that  'tis  living  death 
w^ithout  her.  I've  thrown  it  up  and  promised  to  go  to 
1  Niffed.     Vexed. 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  243 

the  ends  of  the  earth,  if  she  likes,  as  soon  as  my  mother's 
dead." 

"  Aw  jimmery !  "  I  said.  "  You'll  make  a  bally-muck 
of  married  life  if  you  do  that,  Ben." 

"  No,  I  shan't,  "  he  said ;  "  but  I'll  make  a  bally-muck 
of  single  life.     I  shan't  be  wedded  now." 

"  Not  wedded !  "  I  cried  out. 

"  Everytliing  be  scat  abroad  now,"  he  went  on,  and 
the  tears  were  streaming  down  his  face.  "  She  just 
turned  round  —  'twas  outside  the  churchyard  I  met  her 
—  she  turned  round  and  said  I'd  corned  to  my  senses  too 
late,  and  I  didn't  suppose  as  she'd  bided  to  be  a  laugh- 
ing-stock till  I  cared  to  speak  to  her  again.  '  You  poor 
chitter-faced  thing,'  she  said,  '  do  'e  think  I've  been 
waiting  with  my  'ankercher  to  my  eyes  for  you  to  mend 
your  beastly  manners.''  Not  me  —  I  ain't  that  sort. 
I'm  tokened  to  Tom  Retallack  —  that's  what  I  am  —  a 
man  whose  boots  you  hain't  worthy  to  black.  And 
never  you  speak  to  me  no  more,  because  I  won't  have 
it ! '     So  there  it  is,  and  my  life's  ruined." 

"Tom  Retallack!"  I  said.  "Why  he's  no  older 
than  her,  and  be  so  poor  as  a  beetle.  She  started 
walking  out  with  him  a  year  ago,  and  her  father  stopped 
it  the  minute  he  heard  of  it." 

Then  I  told  Ben  to  keep  up  his  pecker,  and  offered  to 
take  forty  shillings  or  a  month  out  of  Tom  myself  — 
just  for  friendship;  but  somehow  he  knowed  it  was  all 
up  from  the  first,  and  time  proved  he  was  right.  The 
woman  was  like  a  vixen,  and  not  her  father  nor  anybody 
would  make  her  budge.  She  stuck  to  Retallack  and 
went  her  way,  though  she  calmed  down  in  a  month,  and 


244  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

sought  out  Ben  and  axed  his  forgiveness,  which  he 
granted.  But  she  didn't  throw  Tom  oA'er,  and  there 
was  nothing  more  to  say  about  it.  A  curious  case  of  a 
woman  doing  a  thing  in  a  passion  and  sticking  to  the 
consequences  when  she  was  cool  again.  She  told  me, 
long  after,  that  it  was  all  for  the  best,  because  she'd 
always  liked  Tom,  and  reckoned  his  nature  was  better 
suited  to  her  own  than  Ben's. 

"  I  should  always  have  bullied  Ben,"  she  confessed. 
"  He's  built  for  some  one  to  bully ;  and  that  would  have 
made  a  lot  of  trouble,  and  he'd  have  hated  me  in  course 
of  time." 

'Twas  easy  to  arrange  it  all  like  that ;  but  Ben  never, 
never  got  over  it,  and  was  a  changed  man  from  that 
day.  He  went  about  as  though  he'd  had  an  accident 
and  broken  liimself  up,  and  so  he  had  —  where  he 
couldn't  be  mended;  for  to  his  dying  hour  his  love  for 
that  woman  didn't  waver.  He'd  made  a  picture  of  her 
in  his  heart,  and  time  couldn't  wipe  it  out  or  put  another 
there. 

They  was  all  friends  again  in  six  months,  and,  of 
course,  Tom  Retallack  promised  Janet  that,  when  the 
time  came,  he'd  be  up  and  away  with  her  to  America. 
But  it  was  a  safe  thing  to  promise,  because  well  he  knew 
the  time  never  would  come.  He  only  earned  eighteen 
bob  a  week,  and  it  looked  as  though  the  pair  of  'em 
would  be  grey-headed  afore  ever  he'd  get  enough  to  put 
a  roof  over  her  head,  let  alone  fly  across  the  sea. 

But  Janet  trusted  to  time,  and  told  Ben  one  day  — 
the  day  he  buried  his  mother,  it  was,  and  a  great  rally 
of  neighbours  beside  the  grave  —  that  she'd  never  given 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  245 

up  the  hope  and  the  longing  to  go  abroad  and  see  the 
world.  And  he  was  gentle  with  her,  and  said  that  for 
her  sake  he  hoped  it  would  happen  some  day.  Because 
they'd  got  to  be  quite  good  friends,  and  he  could  bear 
to  talk  to  her  and  see  her  along  with  Retallack.  They'd 
even  got  so  far  that  she  would  beg  him  to  look  round 
and  find  a  maiden  to  share  his  home  now  his  mother 
was  gone.  But  he'd  smile  at  her,  and  thank  her  for  the 
good  advice,  and  say  there  was  none  bom  could  ever  do 
that. 

A  few  months  later  happened  a  nine  days'  wonder, 
and  Tom  Retallack  fell  in  with  his  famous  windfall. 
Just  the  most  amazing  come-by-chance  that  ever  was 
heard  tell  about,  and  a  thing  that  even  got  into  the 
newspapers  —  as  well  it  might.  A  Bank  Holiday  'twas, 
and  him  and  Janet  took  their  food  and  tramped  to 
Brown- Willy  —  the  great  tor  that  you  see  rising  up 
over  the  Cornish  moors  to  the  east  of  St.  Tid.  A  fine 
place,  sure  enough,  and  good  for  a  holiday  and  a  breath 
of  air,  but  desolate  as  sin  —  the  home  of  the  fox  and 
the  hawk.  Yet  in  that  barren  place  if  Retallack  didn't 
come  by  his  money !  'Twas  after  him  and  Janet  had 
ate  their  food  and  was  playing  about,  and  she  was  pick- 
ing whortleberries  and  he  was  smoking  his  pipe,  when 
he  seed  a  little  tin  box,  rusty  and  battered,  'pon  top  of 
a  boulder.  He  flung  stones  at  it  to  knock  it  down,  and 
presently  he  did  so,  and  the  box  fell  twenty  feet  into  the 
green  grass  under,  and  scat  open  when  it  struck  the 
turf.  'Twas  full  of  white  paper,  and  when  they  come 
to  look,  they  found  the  paper  was  money !  All  good 
Bank  of  England  notes,  and  the  girl  counted  'em,  and 


246  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

they  stood  for  five  hundred  and  fifteen  pound!  They 
thought  they  must  be  drunk  or  dreaming,  but  there 
weren't  no  mistake  —  'twas  real  hve  cash,  and  they  took 
it  home  and  built  pretty  castles  in  the  air  as  they  went, 
no  doubt.  But  when  the  time  came,  and  they'd  got 
used  to  it,  Tom,  being  a  very  straight  man,  advertised 
the  find  and  doubted  not  that  the  owner  would  come 
forward  and  the  queer  thing  be  explained.  The  only 
question  in  his  mind  was  how  much  he'd  be  likely  to 
get  for  the  recovery.  But  nought  happened  and  none 
came  forward ;  so,  after  leaving  it  at  that  for  three 
months,  it  looked  as  though  all  was  right,  and  Retallack 
might  fairly  claim  the  money.  Which  he  did  do, 
naturally,  and  everybody  wished  him  joy  of  it,  and  we 
had  a  good  few  free  drinks  along  with  the  man,  you  may 
be  sure. 

Then,  come  winter,  he  wedded,  and  Ben  and  me  was 
at  the  wedding  with  a  good  few  other  friends.  And 
Tom  Retallack  took  his  wife  away  to  America  —  to  the 
quarries  in  Pennsylvania  —  and  we  heard  little  more 
about  'em  for  five  years.  But  from  time  to  time  came  a 
letter  from  the  woman  to  her  father.  She  bore  chil- 
dren, and  weren't  none  too  happy,  by  all  accounts. 
Nothing  to  catch  hold  of,  but  it  read  as  if  her  and 
her  husband  didn't  always  see  alike.  He'd  got  work, 
but  nothing  wonderful,  and  it  began  to  look  presently 
as  if  the  pair  of  'em  was  homesick,  and  might  return  to 
St.  Tid  afore  they  was  much  older. 

Then  we  lost  Ben  Nute.  He  was  struck  down  by  an 
empty  tumbril  running  fast  from  the  top  of  the  hill  to 
the  pit.      He'd  got  his  back  to  it,  and  was  standing  in 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  247 

the  line  dreaming,  and  didn't  hear  the  warning.  The 
poor  chap  had  his  pin-bone  ^  broke,  and  a  good  few  of 
his  ribs,  and  his  left  arm.  'Twas  a  pretty  hopeless  case 
from  the  first,  and  I  don't  think  he  much  wanted  to  get 
over  it,  for  he'd  have  been  a  crooked  cripple  to  his 
dying  day  if  he'd  lived.  Anyhow,  he  made  no  fight  to 
live,  and  sank  away  and  perished  ten  days  after  his 
fatal  smash. 

We  was  all  terrible  sorry,  and  the  quarry  fairly 
turned  out  to  the  burying,  and  we  lined  the  grave  with 
moss  and  daffadowndillies  for  the  man.  So  he  went 
in  along  with  his  mother,  and  his  place  knew  him  no 
more.  I  never  lost  a  better  friend  or  a  kinder  neigh- 
bour. 

Then  —  a  year  after,  it  might  have  been  —  the  Retal- 
lacks  came  home,  with  three  very  nice  little  children. 
But  there  was  a  cloud  had  come  up  between  them, 
owing  to  differences  of  nature,  and  though  Tom  got 
work  and  was  taken  on  again,  and  found  a  cottage  to 
suit  him  and  all,  yet  it  weren't  a  happy  home,  and  he 
said  to  me  more  than  once  that  he  wished  he'd  bided  out 
to  America  and  let  Janet  return  with  her  little  ones. 
And  she'd  talk  to  me,  too,  and  often  wish  her  cake  was 
dough  again  and  she  a  maiden  still.  They'd  make  me 
listen  to  their  secrets,  though  little  I  wanted  to  do 
so,  and  I  took  a  lot  of  interest  in  'em  for  their  own 
sakes  as  well  as  for  the  sake  of  a  dead  man.  It  seemed 
to  me  there  was  no  very  deep  difference  between  'em ; 
but  they  jarred  on  each  other  over  the  children  more 
than  anything,  and  the  right  and  wrong  way  to  bring 
1  Pin-bone.     Thigh-bone. 


248  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

'em  up.  And  the  eldest,  he  was  called  Ben,  after  Nute, 
who'd  stood  gossip  to  him ;  because,  differ  as  they  might, 
neither  Tom  nor  Janet  ever  spoke  his  name  without 
kindness. 

So  there  it  was,  and  after  they'd  been  back  in  Delabole 
a  year,  it  might  be,  the  crash  came,  and  Tom  dropped 
in  upon  me  one  fine  night  and  told  me  he  was  off. 

"  Can't  stand  no  more,"  he  said.  "  It  be  telling  on 
my  nerve,  and  a  quarryman's  no  good  to  nobody  with- 
out that.  I'm  going  to  leave  my  wife  —  it's  all  over 
bar  shouting.  She'll  have  my  money  and  not  my 
compan}^,  and  all's  for  the  best.  I'm  cruel  sorry  about 
it,  and  she's  a  lot  put  about;  but  I've  threatened  too 
often,  and  now  I'm  going  to  perforai.  I  shall  seek  work 
at  Penrhyn  in  Wales,  so  as  not  to  be  too  far  off  my 
childer ;  but  if  it's  not  to  be  got  there,  I  go  back  to  the 
States." 

Well,  I  was  properly  shocked  and  much  troubled' to 
know  how  far  things  had  drifted;  and  just  then,  just 
while  I  was  talking  sense  to  the  man,  in  came  his  wife 
with  the  same  story,  not  knowing  he  was  along  with  me. 

And  then,  neighbours,  it  all  came  over  me  in  a  flash, 
and  I  lied  to  the  dead. 

I  dare  say  your  quick  wits  can  put  the  rest  of  the  tale 
together  very  suent ;  but,  of  course,  they'd  never  guessed 
it,  and  no  more  had  any  other  mortal.  For  pure  love 
of  the  girl,  Ben  Nute  had  played  his  little  trick,  and, 
after  his  mother  died,  had  planned  to  give  her  the  money 
that  then  belonged  to  him.  He  couldn't  just  hand  it 
over,  of  course,  for  she'd  never  have  took  it;  but  he 
cudgelled  his  brains,  and  finally  hit  on  the  thought  to 


THE  LIE  TO  THE  DEAD  M9 

stick  it  under  the  eyes  of  the  man,  or  woman,  on  some 
occasion  when  and  where  they  was  bound  to  see.  And 
so,  after  he  knew  where  they  was  off  that  Bank  Holiday, 
he  overgot  'em,  and  reached  the  tor  afore  they  did,  and 
put  his  old  box  and  his  money  where  they  wasn't  likely 
to  miss  it.  It  might  have  bided  in  that  horny-winky 
spot  half  a  year  without  any  eye  but  a  raven's 
seeing  it;  so,  to  make  all  safe,  Ben  himself  hid  not  far 
distant  till  he  marked  that  all  was  right ;  then  he  sloped 
off  home  unseen  and  unguessed.  And  he  told  me  the 
story,  and  made  me  swear  that  not  on  my  very  death- 
bed would  I  ever  tell  it  again  to  mortal  ear. 

And  yet  I  broke  that  oath,  and  I'll  always  hold  to 
it  that  a  Voice  louder  than  my  ow^n  senses  ordered  me 
so  to  do.  I  told  the  pair  of  'em  how  Ben  Nute  had 
plotted  for  'em  and  planned  for  'em  to  wed  and  to  go 
where  Janet  willed ;  and  how  money  was  nothing  to  the 
lonely  man,  but  that,  knowing  what  it  would  be  to 
them,  he  had  gived  it  all  up  gladly  for  their  happiness 
and  welfare. 

"  And  now,"  I  said,  "  knowing  that,  I  dare  you  —  I 
properly  dare  you  two  to  make  his  beautiful  deed  a 
thing  of  nought.  For  honour  and  love  of  that  good 
chap,  you  can't  break  up  all  he  planned  for  you. 
You've  got  to  bide  together  and  pull  together  —  by  God, 
you  have !  I've  broke  my  oath,"  I  said,  "  and  I'm  in 
my  Maker's  Hand ;  but  I  leave  it  to  3^ou  to  judge  if  such 
a  far-reaching  and  dangerous  thing  as  that  is  all  to  go 
in  vain." 

They  didn't  think  mUch  of  me,  however ;  they  was  far 
too  much  occupied  with  what  Ben  Nute  had  done. 


250  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  We  was  all  surprised  but  me  when  he  didn't  die 
worth  twopence,"  I  said,  "  and  now  you  two  people 
know  the  reason;  and  you  also  know,  I  should  hope, 
what  to  do  about  it.  You've  got  to  be  reconciled  for 
the  memory  of  that  proper  man,  and  if  you  part  now, 
knowing  what  I've  told  'e,  you  ain't  the  creatures  I've 
took  'e  for." 

They  was  hot-hearted,  hot-headed  things,  and  in  the 
emotion  of  the  moment  I  could  see  I'd  got  my  way. 
Janet  cried  a  bucket,  and  they  went  home  together, 
and  though  I'm  bound  to  say  in  cold  blood  the  next 
morning  I  doubted  if  I'd  not  told  my  great  lie  to  Ben 
Nute  in  vain,  yet  Him  as  made  me  tell  it  was  wiser  than 
us,  and  the  story  turned  out  as  well  as  I  could  have 
wished.  They  saw  it  and  they  felt  it ;  and  though  it 
seemed,  perhaps,  a  far-away,  dead  thing  to  breed  such 
a  living  result  —  there  it  was :  it  worked  and  held  them 
together  —  the  cement  of  a  dead  man's  love. 

That  was  the  story  I  told  in  "  The  One  and  All,"  and 
Sidney  Nosworthy,  who  started  me,  declared  that  I'd 
proved  very  clever  how  a  lie  might  be  justified  even  to 
the  dead;  but  Moses  Bunt  and  another  here  and  there 
were  far  from  convinced,  and  Moses  said  that  to  tell  a 
dead  man's  secret  for  the  sake  of  a  pair  of  cranky  fools, 
like  they  Retallacks,  was  not  a  thing  he  should  ever 
forgive  me,  for  one.     And  he  never  did. 

So  the  question  still  remains  to  answer,  though  for 
my  part,  if  it  all  happened  over  again  tomorrow,  I 
shouldn't  do  no  different.  I  don't  say  it's  right,  and  I 
don't  say  it's  wrong;  but  I  just  say  that's  how  I'd  act  — 
as  we  all  must,  according  to  our  natures. 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS 

The   Lord's   hand  goeth  light   here   and  heavy   there, 

and  His  ways  with  man  are  full  of  mystery ;  for  none 

can  say  why  for  He'll  be  gentle  with  the  wicked  and 

hard  with  the  virtuous  man,  or  why  for  He  chastens 

them  He  loves  best,  or  lets  the  famous  sinner  flourish 

like  the  green  bay-tree  in  the  sight  of  the  nation.     But 

this  I  know  from  my  own  amazing  experience,  that  He 

tackles  good  and  bad  in  one  fashion  only,  and  that  idden 

according  to  human  manners  and  customs,  but  because 

He  can  see  the  end  from  the  beginning,  and  knows  the 

manner  of  mind  we  be  moulded  in,  and  what  firing  each 

man  and  woman  needs  to  make  them  useful  crockery, 

so  as  they  shall  justify  their  existence  in  this  world  and 

save  their  souls  in  the  next. 

To  look  at  me,  an  old  chapel  member  and  useful  in 

the  pulpit,  a  man  well  thought  upon  and  knoAvn  to  be 

honest  and  patient  and  trustworthy,  and  a  man  ever 

ready  to  advise  the  young  out  of  long  experience,  and  a 

father  of  a  grown  family  doing  good  work  in  the  world 

—  to  look  at  me,  Tobias  Hawke  of  St.  Tid,  you'd  think 

you  saw  an  old  chap  as  had  been  blessed  with  sense  and 

religion  and  wise  parents  and  a  good  disposition  from 

his  youth  up ;  and  yet  if  you  thought  so,  you'd  think 

as  wrong  as  could  be.      For  till  I  was  one  and  twenty 

years  of  age  I'd  got  no  sense  nor  yet  religion,  but  a 

proper  wilful  temper  and  a   rebellious   character,  and 

251 


252  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

didn't  care  no  more  about  doing  my  duty  to  my  neigh- 
bour than  a  tom-cat  does.  Right  down  wicked,  in  fact. 
And  as  for  my  parents,  they  be  underground  now,  and 
so  enough  said ;  but  truth's  truth,  and  it  won't  hurt 
'em  to  tell  it,  and  the  truth  is  that  my  father  spent  half 
his  time  locked  up  for  poaching  or  worse,  and  my  poor 
mother,  as  might  have  been  good  with  another  sort  of 
man,  was  wicked  with  father,  and  she  lost  her  self- 
respect  and  went  down  hill,  and  died  afore  she  was  fifty 
along  of  being  intemperate.  She  took  to  the  bottle  to 
drown  her  sorrows,  poor  woman,  and,  as  often  happens 
with  females,  the  bottle  soon  drowned  her.  So  the 
people  said  I  had  bad  blood  in  me,  which  was  true, 
and  when  they  turned  me  out  of  the  quarries  for  no 
fault  but  laziness  and  slackness,  it  looked  as  if  I  should 
have  to  w^ait  longer  than  I  wanted  to  get  more  work. 

My  mother  was  dead  then,  and  my  father  happened 
to  be  going  straight  for  the  minute  and  making  a  sort 
of  living  doing  a  bit  of  fish  jowstering,  and  he  cussed  me 
for  losing  my  job  proper,  and  said  I  was  a  disgrace  to 
him  and  such  like.  But  I  took  no  'count  of  him,  be- 
cause it  was  his  way  to  be  cruel  virtuous  between  his 
lapses.  What  I  had  to  do  was  to  get  work  or  go  for 
an  emigrant  to  Canada,  and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  a  girl 
by  the  name  of  Betty  Bake  —  one  of  the  Bakes  of  New- 
hall  Mill  —  I  dare  say  I  should  have  gone.  Only  seven- 
teen year  old  she  was,  but  she  and  me  were  tokened  on 
the  quiet.  Her  mother  never  would  have  allowed  it  if 
she'd  knowed;  but  she  didn't  know,  and  nobody  knew, 
because  Betty  liked  mystery,  so  we  kept  company  in 
secret,  and  meant  to  marry  some  day  and  surprise  St. 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  253 

Tid.  That  couldn't  be,  however,  till  I'd  scraped  a  bit 
of  cash,  and  when  I  lost  my  quarry  job,  Betty  pulled 
a  face,  and  I  was  half  afeared  she'd  throw  me  over. 
Terrible  fond  of  money  she  was,  and  no  more  particular 
than  me  how  she  coined  by  it ;  and  if  there'd  been  any 
way  at  St.  Tid  for  me  to  get  a  bit,  little  she'd  have  cared 
how  I  did.  But  there  weren't  no  doubtful  silver  to  be 
picked  up  in  our  church-town,  for  'twas  always  a  poor 
and  God-fearing  place,  with  more  chapels  than  pubs  in 
it.  So,  though  I'd  have  done  wrong  for  money  just  as 
soon  as  right  in  them  evil  days  of  my  youth,  there  didn't 
seem  none  to  tempt  me,  and  I  wore  out  a  pair  of  boots 
looking  for  honest  work,  and  at  last  I  found  some  along 
with  Farmer  William  Sleep  of  Lanteglos  INIeadows. 

A  hundred  acres  and  no  more  the  man  had,  but  it 
was  his  own,  and  he  made  a  bare  living  out  of  it,  and 
after  getting  a  fortnight's  job  in  the  hay-fields,  and 
working  harder  than  ever  I  worked  before,  and  behaving 
so  good  as  gold,  you  may  say,  to  gain  my  own  ends,  I 
asked  him  to  let  me  stop,  and  sw^ore  he'd  never  regret 
it  if  he  did. 

He  was  an  old  man,  thin  as  a  new-come  w^oodcock, 
and  rather  bird-like  himself,  for  that  matter;  for  he  had 
a  pointed  nose  and  a  sloping  brow  and  a  bald  head  and 
a  mouth  like  a  slit  in  a  money-box.  An  excitable,  bird- 
witted  sort  of  man.  A  suspicious  chap,  too,  and 
wouldn't  trust  nobody.  Easily  scared  off  an  opinion 
and  prone  to  distrust  his  own  judgment,  and  much  given 
to  fretting  and  grizzling  and  prophesying  bad  luck  that 
never  happened.  And  when  some  other  old  chap  would 
laugh  at  him  afterw^ard,  and  point  out  how  he'd  worried 


25i  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

for  naught,  Farmer  Sleep  would  say  it  was  liis  undying 
custom  to  look  on  the  dark  side,  because  it  was  better 
not  to  be  disappointed,  and  if  things  didn't  fall  out  so 
bad  as  he  feared,  then  he'd  get  a  mite  of  comfort,  which 
was  all  to  the  good.  A  widow-man  he  was,  and  thought 
to  be  harailess  enough. 

"  ^^^iij  for  did  they  chuck  you  from  the  quarries.^  " 
he  asked  me  when  I  begged  to  be  took  on  regular. 

"  Because  I  didn't  neighbour  to  the  work.  Master," 
I  told  him.  "  I  was  a  rock  man,  and  I  hated  it,  and  my 
heart  weren't  in  it.  But  I'm  properly  fond  of  the  land 
and  very  wishful  to  larn  farming,  for  my  nature  goes 
out  to  it." 

I  discovered  after  that  he'd  been  in  two  minds  for  a 
good  bit  about  sacking  his  second  man ;  and  as  he 
believed  my  yarn  and  liked  the  look  of  me,  he  took  me 
on.  He  drove  a  pretty  tight  bargain  for  a  start,  but 
he  said,  if  I  was  so  good  as  my  promises,  he'd  rise  me 
after  six  months,  so  I  left  the  room  where  I'd  lodged  in 
St.  Tid  with  ni}^  mother's  sister,  and  took  up  my  quar- 
ters in  a  little  dormer  attic  in  the  roof  of  Lanteglos 
]Meadows  Farm.  And  I  worked  hard,  and  soon  found 
that  the  way  to  please  old  Sleep  was  to  keep  my  mouth 
shut  and  stick  to  my  job. 

I  didn't  get  much  time  to  play  about,  but  me  and 
Betty  met  Sundays,  and  I  was  always  on  the  lookout 
on  the  quiet  to  find  something  with  more  money  to  it 
and  less  work.  After  six  months  I  got  fifteen  shilling  a 
week,  and  after  another  six  I  got  a  pound,  and  when  he 
gave  it  to  me,  farmer  said  I  mustn't  count  on  no  more 
rises  for  a  month  o'  Sundays  and  more,  because  things 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  255 

were  terrible  tight  and  he'd  had  proper  bad  luck  with 
his  lambs.      Which  was  true. 

And  Bett}'  was  getting  a  bit  restive  and  wondering 
if  we  could  wed  on  fifty-two  pound  a  year,  and  I  was 
half  in  a  mind  to  tr}-,  when  a  bank  broke,  and  I  took  to 
crooked  ways  and  did  evil  in  the  sight  of  the  Lord. 
The  parties  are  all  gone  but  me  now,  so  I  can  tell  the 
story,  and  seeing  that  I'm  the  villain  of  the  tale  and 
covered  with  confusion  and  shame,  you  might  very  well 
wonder  how  I  care  to  do  it.  But  I  do  it  for  conscience' 
sake,  and  for  a  lesson  to  the  young  men  and  maidens  to 
go  straight  and  fear  their  ]\Iaker. 

'Twas  Trebow  and  Trelissick's  bank  that  broke  —  a 
private  affair,  held  so  safe  as  the  Bank  of  England  by 
folk  in  North  Cornwall ;  and  it  hit  a  lot  of  poor  people 
cruel  hard  and  frightened  the  rest.  And  Trelissick  got 
two  years  in  prison,  for  'twas  proved  he  knew  in  good 
time  what  was  coming  and  hadn't  been  straight ;  but 
Trebow  was  in  his  grave  ten  years  before,  so  he  was 
taken  from  the  wrath  to  come. 

AVell,  as  I  say,  not  only  them  that  were  hit,  but  them 
that  escaped,  found  themselves  in  a  rare  flutter  over 
this  sad  come-along-of-it,  and  nobody  was  in  a  greater 
terror  than  my  master.  He  hadn't  lost  a  penny,  but 
he  properly  lost  his  nerve,  and  he  declared  most  stead- 
fast that  when  one  broke,  'twas  deathly  certain  you'd 
very  soon  hear  a  lot  more  would  follow  after. 

"  No  more  banks  for  me,"  he  said.  "  I'll  have  my 
money  where  I  know  where  to  put  my  hands  on  it  in 
future." 

And  the  very  next  day  he  donned  his  market  clothes 


256  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

and  went  to  Launceston,  and  come  back  presently  with 
a  very  heavy  hand-bag,  what  I  had  to  carry  for  him 
from  the  station. 

Then  the  silly  old  man  had  another  fright,  for  no 
sooner  was  his  cash  safe  hid  somewhere  —  none  knew 
where  —  than  Orchard  Farm,  betwixt  our  place  and  St. 
Tid,  was  broke  into  by  night,  and  a  bit  of  money  took, 
and  some  Sheffield  plate. 

It  properly  worried  William  Sleep,  I  do  assure  'e ; 
and  if  he'd  had  any  hair  left,  I  doubt  it  would  have 
turned  white  with  fear. 

Mrs.  Beale,  our  housekeeper  at  Lanteglos  Meadows, 
spoke  to  me  about  it. 

"  He's  between  the  dowl  and  the  deep  sea,  poor  soul," 
she  said,  "  and  his  nerves  be  all  over  the  place.  For 
if  he  keeps  his  money,  so  like  as  not  'twill  be  stolen 
from  him,  for  they  thieves  always  smell  it  out;  and  if 
he  puts  it  in  a  bank,  the  bank  will  be  sure  to  break. 
So  he's  in  a  proper  tantara;  and  that  shows  money's 
a  cuss,  whichever  way  you  look  at  it,  and  the  more 
cash  the  more  worrit." 

"  How  much  might  he  have,  ma'am.''  "  I  asked. 

"  He  might  have  a  million  from  the  way  it  frets  him," 
she  told  me.  "  But  what  'tis  I  don't  know  and  don't 
want  to  know." 

Farmer  fussed  and  fumed  for  two  days  and  was  al- 
ways running  up  to  his  sleeping-room  at  all  sorts  of  odd 
times ;  then  a  terrible  queer  thing  happened,  and  my 
troubles  and  temptations  began. 

There  weren't  no  blind  to  my  window,  and  I  was 
lying  awake   one   night  bothering  about  Betty   Bake, 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  257 

for  we'd  had  words,  when  I  see  a  light  flash  up  against 
the  ceiling  over  my  head.  The  clock  downstairs  had 
just  gone  two,  so  that  I  knew  no  common  thing  was 
afoot,  and  as  the  light  moved  and  disappeared,  I  went 
to  my  little  window  and  looked  out.  'Twas  rainy, 
with  a  hidden  moon,  and  I  very  clearly  saw  a  man 
moving  below,  and  thought  as  the  burglar  had  found 
us  at  last.  But  in  a  minute  I  saw  'twas  no  burglar, 
but  Farmer  Sleep  himself.  He  carried  a  lantern  in  one 
hand  and  a  lump  of  something  in  t'other,  and  I  saw 
him  go  across  the  farai-yard  into  a  byre,  where  the 
hand  tools  was  kept,  and  a  minute  later  he  came  out 
with  a  spade.  Then  he  stood  and  listened  for  half  a 
minute,  and  then  he  went  off  by  the  lane  to  the  orchard. 

Of  course  I  guessed  very  quick  what  he  was  up  to, 
and  the  spirit  of  adventure  got  hold  of  me;  so  I  pulled 
on  my  trousers  and  my  coat  and  took  my  boots  in  my 
hand  and  slipped  down-house  and  out.  He'd  shut  the 
front  door  after  him,  but  I  went  in  the  scullery  and 
out  o'  the  window  as  quiet  as  an  owl.  Then  I  got  on 
my  boots,  and  very  soon  was  in  the  orchard.  I  stood 
still  for  a  bit,  and  presently,  a  good  ways  off,  heard  the 
old  man  digging.  So  I  crept  forward  on  my  hands 
and  knees,  and  soon  saw  he  was  very  busy  under  an  old 
walnut-tree  that  stood  in  the  corner  of  the  orchard. 
There  was  a  pile  of  "  deads  "  and  rubbish  under  the 
tree,  as  had  been  there  time  out  of  mind.  'Twas  a  cor- 
ner no  good  for  nothing,  and  us  went  there  but  once  a 
year,  when  the  walnuts  was  ripe,  to  beat  the  tree  and 
gather  'em. 

I  watched,  and  didn't  have  to  wait  long,  for  the  old 


258  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

chap  had  soon  dug  a  hole  a  yard  into  the  rubbish-heap. 
And  that  done,  he  thrust  in  his  parcel,  and  rammed 
it  home  with  his  foot,  and  made  all  same  as  it  was  before. 
He  held  up  his  lantern  then  to  see  that  everything  was 
suent,  and  evidently  felt  he'd  done  a  mighty  clever 
thing,  for  he  gave  a  grunt,  which  he  only  did  when  he 
was  pleased,  and  then  he  douted  the  lantern  and  crept 
back  home.  Not  ten  yards  did  he  walk  away  from  me ; 
but  I  was  lying  curled  up  like  a  hedgehog,  and  silent 
as  a  stone,  you  may  be  sure. 

I  gave  him  a  long  start  back  and  sat  and  thought 
a  mighty  good  while  as  to  what  I  should  do  next.  God 
forgive  me !  'twas  no  fear  of  wrong-doing  that  re- 
strained me,  but  onl}^  wicked  cunning  to  know  how  I 
could  best  get  his  savings  and  be  off  to  safety. 

I  decided  that  I'd  leave  it  for  the  minute  and  have 
a  tell  with  my  Betty ;  because  in  such  a  matter  she'd 
be  cleverer  than  me.  And  so  when  I  reckoned  farmer 
was  safe  to  bed  and  asleep,  I  went  back  through  the 
window  and  hitched  it  after  me  and  crept  up  to  my 
chamber  so  quiet  as  a  beetle. 

And  the  next  Sunday  I  see  Betty  Bake  and  let  her 
in  the  secret. 

It  came  in  the  nick  of  time,  you  might  say,  for  by 
signs  and  tokens  I  had  got  to  see  of  late  that  my  girl 
was  properly  tired  of  courting.  I  wouldn't  say  she  was 
cooling  off  exactly,  but  I  did  know  she  began  to  grow 
a  bit  fretful  and  impatient  with  me.  And  once  and 
again  she  threw  the  name  of  another  chap  at  me,  a  man 
in  the  quari'ies  who  stood  pretty  high,  and  was  likely 
to  get  a  still  better  job  afore  long.     Teddy  Lobb  was 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  259 

his  name,  and  after  she'd  mentioned  him  once  or  twice, 
I  got  nasty  and  told  her  I  didn't  want  to  hear  no 
more  on  that  score  and  reminded  her  of  a  thing  or  two 
she'd  forgot.  We  came  in  sight  of  a  quarrel,  in  fact, 
and  so  I  was  very  glad  the  next  time  we  met  to  distract 
her  mind  with  the  tale  about  Farmer  Sleep's  savings. 

Betty  was  terrible  interested  and  said,  wicked  crea- 
ture, that  no  doubt  'twas  my  lucky  star  had  kept  me 
awake  that  night  and  not  her  sharp  tongue,  as  I 
thought.  And  she  didn't  advise  me  to  take  the  mone^^ ; 
she  ordered  me  to  do  it. 

"  There's  hundreds  so  like  as  not,"  she  said ;  "  and  all 
us  have  got  to  do  is  to  help  ourselves.  There's  no 
power  on  earth  will  ever  guess  'twas  you,  and  very  like 
when  he  goes  that  way  and  sees  the  rubbish-heap  all 
right,  he'll  not  seek  the  stuff  till  we've  took  it  beyond 
his  reach  for  evermore." 

For  plotting  you  never  saw  that  girl's  equal!  Her 
mind  moved  as  quick  as  thought,  and  she  planned  it 
all  and  worked  out  the  details  that  clever  you'd  have 
thought  she'd  been  doing  such  like  sinful  crimes  all 
her  life. 

Farmer  went  to  Launceston  market  every  second 
Saturday,  and  he  was  due  to  be  off  three  days  from 
that  time,  so  'twas  settled  on  that  afternoon,  if  the 
coast  was  clear,  I  would  see  what  he  had  put  away 
in  his  box,  and  hide  it  careful  somewheres  else  till  I'd 
told  Betty  about  it. 

And  that  was  what  I  did  do,  for  the  place  was  lone- 
some as  the  top  of  Brown  Willy,  and  I  picked  my  way, 
so  as  not  to  biniise  a  nettle,  and  got  to  the  rubbish- 


260  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

heap,  and  soon  fetched  out  the  treasure  with  naught 
but  a  blackbird  on  a  bough  to  see  me  do  it.  A  heavy 
box  it  was  that  opened  with  a  hasp,  and  in  half  a  min- 
ute it  lay  open  in  my  lap,  and  I  see  more  money  than 
ever  I'd  see  before.  Two  hundred  pounds,  and  ten 
was  in  the  box,  and  half  was  in  gold,  and  half  in  five- 
pound  notes.  I  properly  gasped,  but  knew  it  was  a 
time  to  keep  my  nerve  well  in  hand,  and  so  in  ten  min- 
utes or  less  I'd  made  the  place  look  same  as  it  did  be- 
fore to  a  dead  stick.  And  the  box  I  wrapped  up  very 
careful  in  a  newspaper  and  put  it  under  my  arm  and 
went  my  way  to  a  little  wood  not  fifty  yard  from  the 
high  road  to  Camelford.  And  there  I  hid  the  stuff 
in  a  drain-pipe,  where  I  could  find  it  in  the  dark,  if 
need  be. 

My  brain  properly  reeled  after  that,  but  the  feeling 
soon  wore  off,  and  I  kept  saying  to  myself,  "  You  be 
worth  two  hundred  and  ten  pounds,  Toby  Hawke,  and 
the  world's  yours  to  conquer !  " 

Farmer  Sleep  was  home  by  supper-time  in  a  very 
cheerful  frame  of  mind.  He'd  sold  a  score  of  sheep 
to  great  advantage,  and  he'd  had  an  extra  drop  on  the 
strength  of  it  and  seemed  wonderful  pleased  with  him- 
self, which  was  a  bit  unusual.  But  the  next  morning 
the  drink  got  home  on  him,  and  he'd  changed  his  tune; 
so  I  felt  glad  'twas  Sunday  and  but  little  work  calling 
to  be  done.  I  guessed  that  he  might  have  a  look  to 
his  money  during  the  da}',  but  it  didn't  seem  very 
likely  he'd  do  it  till  nightfall,  and,  anyway,  there 
weren't  no  danger  for  me;  so  I  went  to  see  Betty  Bake 
as  usual  and  brought  her  the  glad  news.     And  she  was 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  261 

proper  pleased,  and  full  of  plots  in  a  minute.  Her 
great  idea  was  to  cut  and  run  for  it. 

"  With  a  dollop  of  money  like  that,"  she  said, 
"  there's  nothing  beyond  our  power.  And  we'll  go  to 
Liverpool  and  sail  to  America  or  Canada,  where  you 
can  take  up  a  bit  of  land  and  get  out  of  this  stuffy 
hole ;  for  I'm  sick  to  death  of  it  and  want  to  live  in  a 
larger  world.  And  if  we  can  slip  it  pretty  quick  and 
get  clear  afore  he  gets  to  his  money-box  again,  so  much 
the  better." 

As  to  my  giving  a  month's  warning,  she  wouldn't 
hear  of  it. 

"  If  not  tonight,  then  tomorrow  night,"  she  said, 
"  and  not  a  day  later.  We'll  catch  the  early  morning 
train  to  Okehampton,  and  then  get  to  Exeter,  and 
change  there  for  Bristol,  and  change  to  Bristol  for 
Liverpool,  and  then  be  on  the  way  to  foreign  parts  the 
first  moment  we  can." 

She'd  thought  it  all  out,  you  see,  and  when  I  re- 
minded her  we  weren't  married,  she  said  that  didn't 
matter  a  button,  and  we'd  be  brother  and  sister  till  we 
got  to  America  and  then  get  married  there.  I  couldn't 
but  admire  her  cleverness,  and  afore  we  parted  'twas  all 
settled  that  o'  Monday  night  I  should  meet  her  at  a 
cross-roads  not  far  from  where  the  money  was  hid,  and 
we'd  tramp  it  to  Camelford  and  pick  up  the  work- 
men's train.  It  looked  good,  and  any  doubt  I  might 
have  felt  was  soon  swept  away  by  her  confidence  and 
pluck.  For  a  maiden  not  eighteen  I  reckon  she  was 
the  hardest  piece  of  goods  you  might  have  found  in 
Cornwall,  and  I  was  filled  with  admiration  at  her;  but 


CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TLD 

if  she  amazed  me  then,  'twas  nothing  Uke  what  she  did 
after. 

Farmer  Sleep  weren't  home  to  supper,  for  he  spent 
Sunday  in  St.  Tid  as  a  rule,  and  we  was  gone  to  bed 
afore  he  came  home.  And  somehow  I  fancied  that 
he'd  go  out  to  his  treasure  that  night,  so  I  kept  awake 
till  the  small  hours,  expecting  to  see  his  light  on  my 
ceiling  and  mark  him  sneak  off  to  the  orchard;  but 
he  didn't  stir,  and  with  light  I  went  to  sleep,  and  slept 
that  sound  that  the  head-man,  Sam  Nute,  came  up  over 
the  stairs  to  call  me. 

Farmer  laughed  at  me  for  a  sluggard  and  said  he'd 
take  an  alarm-clock  out  of  my  wages  if  I  was  late  again. 
He'd  got  over  his  extra  drop  of  whisky  by  now,  and 
talked  as  usual,  and,  to  my  amazement,  he  spoke  of  his 
savings.  To  Sam  he  spoke,  for  he  thought  a  lot  of 
Sam,  as  had  been  with  him  ten  year;  but  I  couldn't 
help  hearing  while  I  ate  my  breakfast. 

"  No  more  trouble  with  my  money  now,  Nute,"  he  said. 
"  'Tis  safe  at  last,  and  a  great  weight  off  my  mind." 

"  Very  glad  of  it,"  answered  Samuel,  "  for  'twas  on 
your  nerves  a  lot." 

"  It  was,"  confessed  farmer ;  "  but  I've  made  a  bit 
of  an  experiment  since  I  drawed  it  out  of  the  bank, 
and  the  experiment  have  been  very  successful.  I  hid 
half  my  cash  in  a  mighty  snug  place,  Sam,  to  see  how 
it  would  affect  my  mind,  and  the  moment  'twas  done, 
I  got  a  lot  calmer  and  felt  a  proper  weight  off  my  chest. 
And  some  fine  night  afore  very  long  I  shall  put  t'other 
half  with  the  rest,  and  then,  I  believe,  I  shan't  have  a 
care." 


I 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  263 

"  A  very  clever  thought,"  said  Samuel  Nute  in  his 
slow  way ;  "  but  there's  a  danger  to  it,  because  if  you 
was  took  sudden,  as  the  best  of  us  may  be,  nobody 
would  know  where  the  money  was  to,  and  it  might  be 
lost." 

Farmer  Sleep  nodded. 

"  I  never  thought  on  that,"  he  said.  "  But  if  any- 
body knowed  where  the  money  was,  my  peace  would  be 
gone." 

"  You  did  ought  to  write  it  down  and  lock  up  the 
writing,  only  to  be  oped  when  you  be  dead,"  suggested 
Nute,  and  master  allowed  it  was  a  very  witty  thought. 

"  I'll  do  that,"  he  promised,  "  and  put  the  secret 
place  in  a  sealed  envelope,  only  to  be  broken  when  I'm 
took.  And  thank  you  for  the  tip,  Sam;  and  I  may 
tell  you  you're  down  for  a  momentum  in  my  will  when 
the  time  comes." 

"  I'm  very  near  so  old  as  you,"  said  Samuel,  "  and 
just  as  like  to  go  first." 

This  talk  wasn't  meant  for  me,  of  course,  but  I  took 
it  in,  and  it  cheered  me  a  good  bit,  because  it  showed 
the  old  man  hadn't  been  to  his  treasure  since  I  had, 
and  evidently  didn't  mean  to  go  to  it  for  a  bit ;  but  it 
also  showed  me  he'd  be  visiting  the  rubbish-heap  under 
the  walnut-tree  before  very  long;  so  I  was  glad  Betty 
and  me  had  fixed  that  night  to  be  off. 

'Twas  long  coming;  but  come  it  did,  and  at  three 
in  the  morning  I  rose  up  and  put  on  my  best  clothes 
and  took  my  mother's  photograph,  which  was  the  only 
thing  in  the  world  I  valued,  and  slipped  out  by  the 
scullery    window.     They'd    tliink    I    was    oversleeping 


264.  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

again,  no  doubt,  and  Sam  would  come  up  and  call  me 
at  half  after  five ;  but  by  that  time  me  and  Betty  would 
be  in  the  train  on  the  way  to  Okehampton. 

So  it  looked  then ;  yet,  strange  to  relate,  I  hadn't 
been  at  the  cross-roads  half  an  hour  along  with  my  girl 
before  all  was  changed,  and  her  lightning-quick  mind 
made  another  plan  far  more  brilUant  than  the  last. 

We  met  at  the  appointed  place,  and  I  went  in  the 
little  wood  and  found  the  money,  and  then  we  sat  and 
talked  for  a  bit,  because  we'd  got  nearly  two  hour  to 
go  four  miles,  and  there  weren't  no  hurry.  And  I 
told  Betty  about  old  Sleep  and  what  a  lucky  thing  it 
was  that  I'd  heard  him  talking  to  Samuel.  She  listened 
very  quiet,  and  then  she  started  up  all  of  a  tremble 
with  excitement.  An  owl  was  hooting  in  the  trees  over 
our  heads,  and  I  shall  think  of  that  moment  all  my  life 
when  I  hear  one  of  them  night-birds  hollering. 

"  Good  gracious !  "  cried  out  Betty  so  loud  that  the 
owl  went  off  in  a  hurry.  "  D'  you  mean  to  say  you're 
going  off  with  me  after  hearing  that.''  " 

"  Of  course,"  I  said,  "  and  the  sooner  the  better." 

"  You  silly  gawk !  "  she  answered  me.  "  You  must 
be  three  parts  a  fool.  Here's  money  properly  flung  at 
your  head,  and  you  turn  your  back  on  it." 

I  couldn't  see  for  my  life  what  she  was  driving  at, 
but  she  very  soon  made  it  clear. 

"  Why,  the  old  man's  going  to  put  two  hundred  more 
in  his  rubbish-heap,  ain't  he?  " 

"  Yes,"  I  said,  "  and  when  he  does,  he'll  find  the  rest 
have  took  wing." 

"  For  two  pins,  Toby,  I'd  throw  you  over,"  she  de- 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  265 

clared,  much  to  mj  amazement.  "  Why,  can't  you  see? 
You've  got  to  go  back  this  instant  moment  and  put 
this  here  box  where  you  took  it  from.  And  then,  come 
presently,  instead  of  us  having  two  hundred-odd 
pounds,  we'll  have  four  hundred !  " 

I  fairly  gasped  w4th  astonishment. 

"  You  marvel !  "  I  said,  "  I  never  should  'a'  thought 
of  that." 

"  If  I  am  going  to  marry  a  fool,"  said  Betty,  "  I'd 
better  think  twice  afore  I  do  it." 

But  it  weren't,  of  course,  that  I  was  a  fool ;  only  that 
she  was  a  wonder  and  far  beyond  the  common  pattern 
of  clever  girl. 

"  I'm  no  fool,"  I  said,  "  and  to  show  you  I'm  not, 
we'll  nip  back  this  instant  moment  afore  dawn  breaks, 
and  I'll  pop  the  box  in  its  place  and  get  up  to  bed  afore 
cock-light.     And  the  sooner  we  go  the  better." 

So  it  fell  out  that  not  an  hour  later  she  was  running 
home  to  Newhall  Mill  like  a  lapwing,  and  I  w^as  in  the 
orchard.  I'd  soon  got  the  money  back  in  the  rubbish- 
heap  and  was  in  my  bed  again,  and  such  was  my  pres- 
ence of  mind  that  I  didn't  even  forget  my  mother's  pic- 
ture, but  put  it  on  the  mantel-shelf  afore  I  turned  in. 
And  I  weren't  late  rising,  either,  but  got  up  with  the 
birds,  and  was  down-house  afore  Samuel  Nute  or  the 
master. 

And  then  come  the  time  of  waiting,  and  I  never  wish 
to  go  through  nothing  like  it  again.  For  three  nights 
I  made  myself  bide  awake,  hoping  to  hear  William  Sleep 
go  out  in  the  small  hours  to  add  to  his  treasure ;  and 
then  I  remembered  that  he  might  do  it  just  as  easy  by 


266  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

day  as  by  night,  for  nothing  ever  called  me  or  Nute 
to  the  back  end  of  the  orchard.  And  then,  after  a  Sun- 
day talk  with  Betty,  she  said  'twas  very  certain  by  now 
the  balance  of  the  cash  was  stored  and  we  must  try  our 
luck  again.  So  the  night  was  fixed,  and  once  more  we 
set  out,  and  once  more  we  went  home  aagin,  for  the 
adventure  came  to  naught.  On  the  second  time  of 
asking  a  proper  fearful  tiling  fell  upon  us,  at  least  so 
it  seemed,  and  our  plans  and  projects  was  cut  short  in 
a  very  crushing  manner.  All  went  well  at  the  start, 
and  I  didn't  take  two  bites  at  the  cherry  next  time; 
but  left  the  farmer's  saving  till  the  very  night  I  was 
going  to  run  away.  And  then  I  went,  as  before,  and 
the  weight  of  the  box  told  me  I'd  got  the  lot  sure 
enough. 

And  there  was  Betty  with  her  bag,  and  'twas  her 
thought  to  ope  the  box  there  and  then  and  fill  our 
pockets  with  the  money  and  hide  the  box  careful,  so  as 
no  clue  should  ever  be  found  against  us.  She  lighted  a 
match,  and  I  scat  open  the  box  —  and  it  was  full  of 
stones ! 

Not  a  penny,  but  only  the  stones  and  a  piece  of  paper 
with  five  words  from  Scripture,  "  Go  and  sin  no  more." 

The  perspiration  properly  burst  out  on  me,  and 
Betty  very  near  fainted,  for  anybody  could  see  'twas  a 
wicked  plot  against  us,  and  that  farmer,  finding  his 
money  was  gone,  had  hit  on  tliis  dirty  trick  to  get  it 
back.  And  he'd  catched  me;  and,  if  you'll  believe  it, 
Betty  Bake,  instead  of  comforting  me,  as  a  woman 
should  against  such  a  shattering  misfortune,  turned 
round  on  me,  and  said  cruel  words,  and  called  me  a 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  267 

slack-twisted  fool  and  a  gawk  and  a  gaby  and  every- 
thing else  she  could  put  her  tongue  to ! 

"  Shut  your  mouth !  "  I  said  to  her,  getting  pretty- 
savage  .by  then.  "  'S  truth !  "  I  said,  "  'tis  you  be  to 
blame,  not  me,  for  'twas  your  notion  to  put  the  money 
back,  and  I  never  should  have  thought  on  any  such  plan 
myself.  So  you  be  the  fool ;  and  now  you've  over- 
reached yourself,  you  grasping  creature,  and  so  like  as 
not  I  shall  lie  in  clink  tomorrow." 

"  And  I  hope  you  \\411,"  she  dared  to  say.  "  You'm 
the  man,  and  you  ought  to  have  had  the  sense ;  and  now 
you  put  the  blame  on  a  poor  girl,  like  the  mean  coward 
you  are ;  and  never  you  speak  to  me  again  so  long  as 
you  live.  And  if  you  try  to  drag  me  in,  I'll  have  the 
law  on  you." 

Well,  that  showed  me  bitter  clear  that  Betty  weren't 
what  I  thought,  and  I  went  so  far  as  to  tell  her  so  on 
the  spot.  In  fact,  I  got  her  in  a  proper  rage,  and  she'd 
have  liked  to  scratch  my  eyes  out.  But  the  dawn  had 
broke  by  then,  and  so  she  just  picked  up  her  bag  and 
turned  her  back  upon  me  and  went  home;  and  'twas 
many  a  long  year  after  that  before  I  passed  the  time  of 
day  with  her  again. 

And  meantime  she  married  Teddy  Lobb.  Within 
three  months  of  the  fatal  night  she  took  him!  And 
such  was  the  power  of  that  man  and  his  way  of  handling 
her,  that  by  all  accounts  she  made  him  a  very  useful 
wife  and  mother,  and  turned  into  the  narrow  path,  and 
never  had  a  breath  against  her  at  St.  Tid. 

But  as  for  me,  I  went  home  sick  at  heart,  and  a  great 
shame  came  upon  me,  and  the  still  small  voice  woke. 


268  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

and  afore  breakfast-time,  such  is  the  amazing  contrari- 
ness of  human  nature,  I  was  glad  that  the  thing  had 
happened.  I  knew  I  was  a  wicked  rogue  at  last,  and 
the  discovery  made  me  feel  lighter-hearted  than  I'd  felt 
for  a  montli  of  Sundays.  For  you  mustn't  think  I'd 
had  no  bad  moments  over  the  job.  I  had;  and  now 
that  Providence  had  saved  me  from  myself  in  a  manner 
of  speaking,  I  saw  my  escape,  and  felt  that  I  couldn't 
be  too  thankful  to  my  Maker  for  His  great  and  unde- 
served goodness. 

But  I  knew  I  couldn't  leave  it  at  that  if  I  was  to  put 
the  job  right  with  Heaven,  and  it  was  borne  in  upon  me 
I  must  confess  all  and  take  the  consequences.  I  didn't 
rise  to  such  a  height  of  virtue  all  in  a  minute,  however, 
and  it  weren't,  in  fact,  till  I  thought  upon  the  text  as 
Farmer  Sleep  had  left  in  his  box  for  the  thief  that  I 
decided  to  make  a  clean  breast  of  it.  For  it  seemed  to 
me  that  out  of  gratitude  for  getting  his  money  back 
farmer  might  find  himself  in  a  very  Christian  frame  of 
mind,  and  might  even  forgive,  though  'twas  beyond 
reason  to  ask  him  to  forget. 

So  I  owned  up  to  him,  and  he  weren't  much  surprised, 
either. 

"  I  thought  'twas  you,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  very  glad 
that  God  have  put  it  into  your  heart  to  confess  your 
wicked  crime.  And  I'll  ax  you  one  question,  Tobias 
Hawke,  if  you  please.     How  did  you  find  out?  " 

"  I  see  your  lantern  light  on  my  bedroom  ceiling, 
Master ;  and  with  that  I  rose  up  and  followed  you." 

"  I  won't  pretend  I  was  clever  enough  to  catch  you 


FARMER  SLEEP'S  SAVINGS  269 

out,"  he  answered ;  "  but  Uncle  Retallack  to  St.  Tid 
was  the  man.  When  I  found  out  on  a  Saturday  night, 
going  to  put  in  another  ten  pound,  that  I'd  been  robbed, 
I  went  to  Uncle  Retallack  with  the  trouble,  and  he  told 
me  how  I  might  very  like  get  back  my  money,  tor  though 
the  devil's  a  clever  partj',  there's  quite  as  clever  as 
him,  if  not  more  so ;  and  so  he  was  bested,  and  the  wit 
of  man  and  the  will  of  God  have  come  between  you  and 
your  damnation,  Tobias." 

"  I'm  a  changed  creature  from  tliis  moment,"  I  said 
to  Farmer  Sleep ;  "  and  if  you  don't  give  me  up  to 
justice,  I'll  richly  reward  you." 

"  What  did  m}^  text  in  the  box  say.^"  "  he  asked. 

"  '  Go  and  sin  no  more,'  "  I  answered. 

"  Then  you  can  do  it,"  he  said.  "  You  can  go  this 
instant  moment,  for  I've  done  with  you ;  but  I  won't 
take  no  action,  and  I  won't  tell  nobody  but  Uncle 
Retallack,  who  has  a  right  to  hear  how  his  cleverness 
was  rewarded.  You  go  and  seek  other  work  far  ways 
off  from  here,  and  get  your  soul  right  with  God,  and 
thank  Him  many  times  on  your  knees  for  His  long- 
suffering  mercy.  The  way  of  the  sinner  be  hard  most 
times,  but  in  your  case  it's  been  cruel  easy,  and  the  least 
you  can  do  is  to  thank  your  Maker  for  your  luck. 
And  if  so  be  as  you  reform  and  justify  your  existence 
and  save  a  bit  of  mone}',  don't  you  hide  it  in  no  rubbish- 
heap  for  the  first  knave  to  find,  but  take  it  to  Uncle 
Retallack,  or  some  other  sensible  man,  who  understands 
what  to  do  with  it.  I  was  a  fool  and  deserved  to  lose 
my  stuff,  and  you  were  a  wicked  rascal  and  deserved  a 


270  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

lot  more  than  you're  getting,  so  we've  both  good  cause 
to  be  thankful ;  and  you  can  be  gone  by  midday,  if  you 
please." 

So  I  went,  and  though  'tis  too  much  to  say  that  I 
was  so  good  as  the  holy  text  and  sinned  no  more  from 
that  day  to  this  —  for  who  can  say  they've  been  sinless 
from  one  and  twenty  to  seventy  and  three.''  —  yet  I'm 
known  today  as  a  straight  old  man,  with  a  good  wife 
and  good  children,  and  money  in  the  bank,  and  very  well 
thought  on  as  a  lay  preacher  for  miles  around.  I  was 
brought  to  the  fold  by  an  easy  path,  sure  enough,  and 
never  shall  be  sufficiently  thankful  it  was  so. 

Five  years  after  I  left  Lanteglos  Meadows,  I  met 
Betty  Lobb,  so  she  was  then,  at  a  wedding,  and  had  a 
minute's  talk  with  the  woman.  A  mother  of  three  by 
that  time  she  had  become,  and  so  good  a  chapel  member, 
thanks  to  her  husband,  as  I  myself. 

"  Things  have  changed  with  us,  Betty,"  I  said, 
"  since  that  bitter  night  when  we  thought  to  do  wicked- 
ness, and  was  saved  by  the  watching  Lord." 

And  she  looked  through  me  like  a  pane  of  glass  and 
said,  "What  bee's  in  your  bonnet,  Toby  Hawke?  I 
don't  know  from  Adam  what  you  be  talking  about. 
But  if  you're  trying  to  make  out  that  I  ever  did  a  wrong 
thing,  or  thought  a  wrong  tiling,  or  anything  like  that, 
you'd  better  tell  my  husband  and  hear  what  he's  got  to 
say  about  it." 

Defiant  like  she  spoke,  with  a  flash  in  her  eyes ;  so  I 
just  shrugged  my  shoulders  and  went  my  way,  and  felt 
sorry  the  woman  weren't  so  near  grace  as  I  could  have 
wished. 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN 


Them  that  come  to  St.  Tid  for  the  first  time  be  often 
a  good  bit  surprised  to  see  what  a  lot  of  maimed  men 
we've  got.  You'll  scarce  go  round  the  village  without 
finding  a  chap  or  two  on  crutches,  or  short  of  an  arm 
or  a  leg.  And  the  reason  is  that  the  great  slate  quar- 
ries, where  five  hundred  men  and  boys  get  their  living, 
have  their  dangers  and  perils,  for  not  only  the  rock- 
men  below,  who  handle  the  slate  and  break  it  out  with 
d3^namite  and  send  it  to  the  surface,  but  the  hill-men 
also  come  to  grief  sometimes.  For  nought's  perfect, 
and  in  the  battle  with  the  forces  of  Nature,  they'll 
break  loose  now  and  again  and  turn  on  us  that  think  we 
have  tamed  them.  In  fact,  a  man  wants  to  be  watchful 
and  wary  all  his  time  in  a  slate  quarry,  because  the 
accident  happens  when  least  expected,  and  the  slate's 
always  ready  to  fall,  or  the  land  to  slip;  and  the  guil- 
lotine, that  "  trues  "  the  slates,  is  always  bitter  quick 
to  take  your  fingers  off,  if  you  forget  what  you're  about 
for  a  second  and  get  'em  under  the  knife. 

Such  untoward  happenings,  as  well  as  them  that  end 
in  death,  we  very  properly  account  the  work  of  God; 
and  when  you've  said  that,  you've  said  all  you  can  say 
about  them.  But  in  the  long  history  of  St.  Tid's  quar- 
ries, which  runs  back  to  Queen  Bess,  so  they  tell  me,  a 

271 


272  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

few  dark  deeds  have  to  be  chronicled;  and  if  God  Al- 
mighty be  answerable  for  many  a  sad  come-along-of-it, 
there's  no  manner  of  doubt  that  the  Devil  must  be 
blamed  now  and  again  for  others ;  because  'tis  fantastic 
and  out  of  all  nature  to  suppose,  where  five  hundred 
humans  pursue  their  daily  task,  that  the  Evil  One  won't 
find  good  hunting  now  and  again. 

A  very  curious,  tangled  tale  is  this  of  Jenifer  Keat, 
daughter  of  farmer  Harry  Keat.  She  was  a  superior 
young  maiden,  well  educated  and  clever  without  a 
doubt;  and  she  was  a  bit  too  clever  for  her  father,  I 
reckon,  for  I've  heard  him  openly  declare  that  you  can 
educate  a  girl  out  of  all  usefulness. 

"  'Tis  a  fact,"  farmer  said,  "  that  learning  may  be  a 
great  danger  to  the  female  mind,  and  my  Jenifer  have 
now  reached  a  pitch  of  education  that  soars  high  above 
the  Fifth  Commandment.  Too  much  book-learning 
have  made  her  selfish,  and  she's  no  more  good  to  help 
her  mother,  or  me,  than  a  bird  in  a  bush." 

However,  the  fact  that  she  weren't  a  domestic  sort 
of  maiden  didn't  prevent  her  being  very  handsome,  and 
her  own  generation  had  no  quarrel  with  her.  Plenty 
of  girl  friends  she  had ;  and  presently  the  usual  sort  of 
thing  happened,  and  she  fell  in  love  with  one  young 
chap,  while  another  young  chap  fell  in  love  with  her. 

Tommy  Jago  was  only  a  rock-man  in  the  quarries, 
and,  though  a  very  fine  youth,  strong  and  well  set  up, 
and  a  good  enough  specimen  of  a  boy,  yet  'twas  just 
pure  cheek  him  falling  in  love  with  Jenifer,  because  she 
was  much  above  him  in  every  way,  for  the  Jagos  were 
very   humble   folk,   with   a   bad   record   at  that,   while 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  273 

Harry  Keat  owned  a  thousand  acres,  and  his  big  place 
between  the  coast  and  St.  Tid  was  his  own  freehold. 
But  Tommy  happened  to  be  one  of  they  dark,  dour, 
obstinate  chaps,  and  there's  no  doubt  that  his  masterful 
way  rather  appealed  to  Jenifer,  who  was  masterful  her- 
self. Yet,  all  the  same,  it  wasn't  Tommy  that  she 
loved,  and  when  this  story  began,  nobod}^  but  Jenifer 
herself  knew  where  she'd  lost  her  heart.  For  she  kept 
her  secret  very  close,  and  bided  in  patience  and  hope. 

And  meantime  Tommy  Jago  courted  her,  for  he  got 
two  chances  every  week  of  his  life,  because  him  and 
Jenifer  were  both  in  the  chapel  choir  of  the  Little 
Baptists ;  and  so  they  met,  not  only  on  Sundays,  but 
also  on  practice  nights.  Often  and  often  they'd  sing 
out  of  the  same  hymn-book,  which  be  a  very  favourite 
Cornish  way  of  love-making,  and  has  led  to  matrimony 
oftentimes. 

Jenifer  most  certainly  liked  Tommy  for  his  qualities, 
and,  if  t'other  chap  hadn't  been  there,  I  doubt  not 
young  Jago  would  have  won  her  against  her  family, 
and  wore  her  father  and  mother  down.  But  she  never 
could  get  the  vision  of  Andrew  Polwam  out  of  her 
mind,  and  it  ain't  strange  that  a  girl  educated  well, 
and  a  bit  of  an  artist  in  her  way  also,  should  have  found 
Andy,  as  he  was  called,  an  attractive  object.  There's 
no  doubt  he  was  amazing  good  to  look  at,  and  after- 
wards, when  the  murder  was  out  and  she  could  speak 
about  it,  Jenifer  said  that  Andy  happened  to  be  the 
living  likeness  of  a  Greek  statue  of  great  fame  by  the 
name  of  "  Mr.  Hermes,"  whoever  he  was.  And,  seeing 
that  Andy  had  crisp  hair  and  a  beautiful  nose  and  a 


274  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

gentle,  kindly  expression  —  like  the  statue,  so  Jenifer 
said  —  she'd  fallen  utterly  in  love  with  him.  So  had 
other  girls,  for  that  matter,  though  none,  of  course, 
would  own  thereto.  Yet,  for  his  part,  Andrew  Polwarn 
didn't  respond  to  one  girl  more  than  another.  He  was 
a  rare  pattern  of  chap,  without  a  doubt,  for  not  only 
could  you  say  he  was  amazing  handsome,  but  you  had 
to  grant  him  rare  modesty.  He  set  no  store  at  all  on 
being  out  of  the  common  good-looking,  and,  if  anybody 
had  told  liim  so,  he'd  have  laughed  at  their  nonsense. 
He  weren't  very  clever,  and  knew  it ;  but  he  respected 
brains  in  other  people,  and  he  thought  a  lot  of  Tommy 
Jago,  because  he  was  such  a  sharp  blade  and  full  of 
ideas. 

Andy  was  a  rock-man  at  the  quarries  also  —  from 
choice,  not  need ;  for  there  was  no  reason,  but  his  love 
of  hard,  open-air  work,  why  he  should  have  gone  into 
them  at  all.  But  he  enjoyed  it,  and  stuck  to  the  heavy 
labour  of  splitting  out  slate  rock  in  all  weathers, 
though,  if  he'd  so  minded,  he  might  have  been  in  a 
grocer's  shop  A\Tith  a  promised  share  in  the  business. 
But  his  father  was  at  the  quarries,  and  Andy  took  to 
the  work,  and  meant  to  stick  to  it,  despite  the  fact  that 
his  uncle,  a  prosperous  tradesman  at  Launceston, 
wanted  him  in  his  shop. 

Polwams  were  well  thought  of,  and  good  friends  of 
the  Keat  family;  but  they  were  Church  folk,  and  that 
makes  a  difference  in  a  lot  of  ways,  for  worshipping  in 
the  same  place  and  sitting  under  the  same  minister 
draws  people  together,  if  'tis  only  for  the  pleasure  of 
saying  what  they  think  about  their  pastor. 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  275 

So  there  it  stood,  and  while  Tommy  courted  Jenifer 
for  all  he  was  worth,  she  dreamed  dreams  about  Andy 
all  the  time,  and  counted  it  a  red-letter  day  when  she 
met  him,  and  often  wondered  if  any  maiden  would  ever 
be  named  with  him.  He  was  always  terrible  pleasant 
to  her  when  they  chanced  together,  and  sometimes  she 
fancied  he  showed  a  thought  more  civility  to  her  than 
other  girls ;  but  whether  that  was  so  or  not,  he  never 
let  on  about  it,  and,  for  all  anybody  could  tell,  he  was 
heart-whole  and  without  a  care. 

Nothing  seemed  to  happen  for  a  bit,  but  Jenifer  got 
tidings  of  Andy  pretty  frequent,  because  he  and  Tommy 
Jago  worked  together  on  the  "  Grey  Abbey  "  slate  seam 
in  the  quarry,  and  Jago,  little  knowing  tliat  the  girl  he 
loved  was  full  of  secret  interest  in  his  mate,  often  spoke 
of  Andy.  'Tis  true  he  was  a  bit  contemptuous  of  the 
other's  brain  power  and  simple  outlook  on  life,  but  he 
never  said  anything  against  his  fellow-worker,  and 
frankly  praised  his  mighty  muscles  and  great  strength. 

"  If  he'd  lam  now,  he'd  be  the  finest  wrestler  in 
Cornwall,"  confessed  Tommy ;  "  but,  as  'tis,  though  I'm 
very  near  two  stone  lighter  and  not  half  his  huge 
strength,  I  could  throw  him  inside  five  minutes  every 
time.  But  he's  a  peace-lover  and  as  gentle  as  a  woman, 
though  strong  as  a  giant.  He'll  never  do  no  good  at 
the  quarries,  nor  rise  to  be  a  leader  same  as  I  shall, 
because  I've  got  more  will-power  and  more  intellects 
than  him." 

Which  was  all  very  interesting  to  Jenifer.  And  an- 
other thing  Tommy  said  interested  her  still  more,  for 
he  scoffed  at  Andy's  humble  nature. 


276  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  He's  properly  frightened  of  the  girls,  I  do  believe," 
declared  young  Jago,  "  and  how  ever  he'll  summon 
courage  to  fall  in  love,  or  find  the  pluck  to  tell  a  maiden 
so  when  he  do,  be  gormed  if  I  know." 

"  He  ain't  in  love,  then  ?  "  asked  Jenifer,  and  the 
young  man  flouted  the  idea. 

"  Don't  know  the  meaning  of  the  word,"  he  assured 
her. 

Then  things  began  to  move  soon  after  that,  and 
Tommy,  who  weren't  made  of  patience,  but  had  a  good 
spice  of  the  devil  in  him,  and  a  great  trick  to  fight  for 
his  own  hand,  proposed  marriage  for  the  fourth  time 
to  Jenifer,  seeing  her  home  from  choir  practice.  And 
he  varied  his  offer  of  heart  and  hand  a  bit,  and  made  it 
clear  he  was  getting  fed  up  with  Jenifer's  delays  and 
postponements. 

"  Why  the  mischief  can't  you  say  '  Yes  '  and  have 
done  with  it  ?  "  he  asked.  "  You  care  a  lot  for  me,  or 
you'd  never  keep  me  on  the  hooks  like  this  and  go  out 
walking  Sundays,  and  all  the  rest  of  it.  And  nobody 
knows  her  own  mind  better  than  what  you  do  in  most 
things,  so  it's  time  you  took  me  in  the  face  of  the  par- 
ish ;  and  then  I  know  where  I  am,  and  can  set  on  to  your 
father  about  it.  For  I'll  mighty  soon  get  him  to  see 
I'm  the  right  one,  so  soon  as  you  have." 

Well,  the  girl  granted  he  had  some  reason  on  his 
side,  and  promised  him  that  she'd  settle  the  matter 
afore  long;  but  when  she  began  seriously  to  think  on 
him,  she  found  herself  weighing  his  faults  against  his 
virtues,  and  turning  him  over  in  such  a  cold-blooded 
and  indifferent  fashion,  that  it  was  quite  certain  that 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  277 

she  didn't  love  him  in  the  least,  and  could  never  marry 
him.  Then  she  was  struck  with  remorse,  for  there's  no 
doubt  she  had  let  him  see  a  lot  of  her,  and  led  him  to 
think  she  was  very  well  content  in  his  company.  And, 
having  reached  that  stage,  Jenifer  began  to  relent  a  bit, 
and  ask  herself  whether  Tommy  wouldn't  do  as  well  as 
anybody  else  for  a  husband,  if  she  must  have  one.  But 
her  proper  instinct  rebelled  against  that,  for  to  marry 
for  the  sake  of  marrying  be  a  vain  thing;  and  so  she 
had  decided  that  Tommy  must  be  sent  about  his  busi- 
ness once  for  all.  And  after  she  had  made  up  her 
mind,  a  great  and  remarkable  adventure  happened  to 
her. 

It  chanced  that  Jenifer  had  been  down  the  valley 
and  she  was  coming  home  from  Newhall  Mill  by  the 
woods.  She  had  taken  a  short  cut,  which  meant  a  jump 
over  a  stream  ;  but  when  she  got  to  it,  the  stream  w  as  up 
over  the  banks,  for  there'd  been  a  proper  thunderstorm 
twenty-four  hours  earlier,  and  the  little  river  was  in 
flood.  It  meant  two  mile  more  on  to  her  walk  afore 
she  could  get  home,  and  she  was  just  turning  back, 
none  too  pleased  with  the  accident,  when  who  should 
come  through  Newhall  Wood  but  Andy  Polwam.  He 
was  bound  same  w^ay  as  her,  and  she  bade  him  stop. 

"  No  use,  Mr.  Polwam,"  she  said ;  "  the  river  be  up 
over  the  banks.     You  can't  get  across." 

But  he  laughed  at  that. 

"  'Twill  take  more'n  a  drop  of  water  to  turn  me  back, 
Miss  Keat,"  he  answered.  And  then  he  made  her  an 
offer. 

"  If  I  take  off  my  boots  and  socks  and  turn  up  my 


278  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

trousers,  I  shall  get  over  very  easy,"  he  told  Jenifer; 
"  and  if  you  don't  feel  it  beneath  your  dignity  for  me  to 
carry  you  over,  I'm  very  willing  to  do  so.  'Twill  save 
you  two  good  mile  o'  walking  and  take  but  five  seconds." 

Well,  there  'twas.  And  if  anybody  else  had  offered, 
I  doubt  the  girl  would  have  said  "  No  "  very  quiqk. 
But  she  loved  him,  and  nature  will  out,  and  the  thought 
that  she'd  be  in  Andy's  anns  for  once  in  her  life,  any- 
way, was  too  much  for  Jenifer  Keat.  It  do  sound  bold 
and  forward,  without  a  doubt,  on  paper,  but  there  'tis ; 
she  felt  so,  and  thanked  him  for  his  sporting  offer,  but 
dursn't  look  in  his  face  while  she  did.  As  for  him,  when 
she  agreed,  he  was  very  well  pleased  to  pleasure  her,  and 
took  off  his  shoon  and  his  socks  and  turned  up  his 
trousers  to  the  knee. 

"  Perhaps  you'll  be  so  kind  as  to  carry  my  gear  while 
I  carry  you,"  he  suggested ;  "  but,  all  the  same,  if  you'd 
rather  not  do  so,  I  can  come  back  for  'em." 

"  Of  course  I'll  carry  'em,"  she  answered.  "  'Tis  the 
least  I  can  do,  I'm  sure." 

So  he  picked  her  up  like  a  baby,  and  it  must  be 
confessed,  though  he'd  said  he'd  be  through  the  water 
in  five  seconds,  when  the  time  came  he  took  a  good  bit 
more.  In  fact  Jenifer,  after  he  found  the  fine  weight  of 
her  in  his  arms  acted  upon  Andy  in  a  very  remarkable 
manner.  For  he'd  never  had  a  maiden  so  close  to  him 
afore;  and  he  liked  it  amazing,  and  he  was  much  inter- 
ested and  delighted  to  look  in  her  eyes  and  see  the 
rosen  in  her  cheeks  and  her  bosom  rise  and  fall,  because 
she  was  panting  a  bit  with  excitement.  In  fact,  both 
of  'em  enjoyed  it  something  wonderful,  and  Andy,  for 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  279 

the  first  time  in  his  hfe,  found  he  could  be  artful.  For 
he  pretended  the  water  was  too  deep  here  and  there, 
and  paddled  about  in  mid-stream  till  Jenifer  got  fright- 
ened and  commanded  him  to  get  across  and  have  done 
with  it,  or  else  go  back. 

"  If  jou  don't,  I'll  drop  your  shoes  in  the  water,"  she 
said. 

With  that  he  took  her  over  and  released  her  terrible 
reluctantly ;  and  then  he  blamed  himself  for  a  silly 
toad,  and  said  he'd  lost  the  chance  of  a  lifetime. 

"And  what  might  you  have  lost?"  she  axed;  but 
he  only  shook  his  head  and  wouldn't  tell  her.  So  she 
went  on  her  way  in  a  proper  miz-maze,  and  knew  very 
well  now  that  it  must  be  Andy  Polwarn,  or  nobody. 
While,  as  for  the  young  man,  he  felt  it  would  be  awful 
nice  to  have  Jenifer  in  his  arms  again,  and  from  that 
day  forward  he  found  her  in  his  thoughts  a  lot. 

Soon  afterwards  him  and  Tommy  was  working  side 
by  side  in  the  quarries  on  the  "  Grey  Abbey  "  seam  in 
a  deep  hole,  and  Andy,  in  liis  simple  way,  told  of  his 
adventure.  Of  course,  he  didn't  know  nothing  of 
Tommy's  hopes,  and  he  just  prattled  as  to  how  he'd 
carried  Jenifer  over  the  brook,  and  how  nicely  she'd 
thanked  him  for  so  doing. 

"  'Tis  a  very  fine  thing  seemingly  to  have  a  maiden 
in  3'our  arms,"  said  Polwarn,  "  and  I'll  tell  you  in 
secret,  Tom,  I  might  have  took  her  across  that  water 
much  quicker  than  what  I  did ;  but,  God  forgive  me, 
I  dallied  a  bit." 

The  other  was  using  his  iron  at  the  time,  and  tapping 
a  hole  in  the  rock  for  a  stick  of  dynamite ;  and  I  dare 


280  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

say,  if  Andy  liad  known  how  near  his  mate  was  to 
lifting  that  bar  of  steel  and  bringing  it  down  on  his 
own  curly  hair,  he'd  have  felt  a  good  bit  of  surprise; 
but  Tommy  hid  his  savage  heart  and  said  nothing. 

A  steam  whistle  sounded  soon  after,  which  was  the 
signal  for  blasting.  So  they  loaded  the  holes  they  had 
driven  in  the  rock-face,  and  lit  the  fuses  and  ran  off, 
to  take  shelter  against  the  explosions.  There's  regu- 
lar times  for  blasting  at  St.  Tid,  and  when  the  whistle 
went,  other  men  from  many  different  parts  of  the 
quarry  also  lighted  their  fuses  and  sought  safety. 
Then,  in  due  time,  from  all  round  the  quarries  there 
burst  out  volumes  of  3'ellow  smoke,  and  rocks  and 
rubbish  were  hurled  high  up  in  the  air,  where  the  slate 
was  torn  out  of  the  bed.  And  a  great  volume  of  sound, 
like  a  thunderstorm  held  on  a  chain,  jolted  and  roared 
and  rattled  round  and  round  and  round  the  quarry 
cliffs.  Then  slowly  the  echoes  died  down  and  the  riot 
ceased,  and  the  rock-men  got  back  to  their  work,  and 
found  the  masses  of  stone  ready  for  'em  to  handle  and 
lever  out  of  the  smashed-up  beds. 

But  Tommy  said  nought  in  return  for  the  secrets 
he'd  heard  from  Andrew  Polwarn,  and  when  Andy  axed 
young  Jago  whether  he'd  ever  felt  any  sort  of  fancy 
for  a  maiden,  the  other  shook  his  head. 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  he  answered,  "  and  I  hope  I  never 
shall,  for  women  be  all  oncertain,  tricky  creatures  at 
best,  and  the  less  a  chap  has  to  do  with  'em  the  better 
for  his  self-respect  and  his  peace  of  mind." 

"  No  doubt  you're  right,"  admitted  Andy ;  and  Tom 
said  no  more  on  the  subject,  but  shut  his  mouth  and 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  281 

kept  his  rage  warm  for  Jenifer  next  time  he  should  fall 
in  with  her. 

He  ordained  to  give  her  a  bit  of  his  mind  about  such 
a  rash  and  outrageous  thing;  for  by  now  he  reckoned 
he  was  properly  tokened  to  her,  and  he  meant  to  make 
it  mighty  clear  to  her  understanding,  once  for  all,  that 
if  she  wanted  for  a  chap  to  go  carrying  her  over  streams 
and  such-like  proceedings,  she  must  come  to  him  hence- 
forth and  only  him. 

II 

But,  when  Tommj^  tackled  Jenifer  in  earnest,  he  got 
an  ugly  surprise. 

"  I've  made  up  my  mind,"  she  said,  "  as  I  promised 
you  I  Avould  do,  and  I  feel  terrible  sure  we  wasn't  meant 
for  one  another,  as  you  thought,  Tom  Jago.  We  can 
be  very  good  friends,  I  hope,  and  admire  each  other,  and 
so  on,  but  marriage  is  different.  So  I'll  say  '  No,'  if 
you  please." 

He  was  patient,  to  begin  with,  but  patience  weren't 
his  strong  point  best  of  times,  and,  against  her  fixed 
determination,  he  soon  lost  his  temper  and  got  to  the 
bottom  of  things  short,  sharp,  and  brutal. 

"  You'm  mad,"  he  said,  "  and  you'm  wicked  and  cun- 
ning with  it,  for  you  think  to  deceive  me,  but  you  don't. 
This  means  another  man,  and  you  know  it." 

"  If  it  do,  what  then?  'Tis  a  free  country,"  she  told 
him.  "  And,  anyway,  you've  got  no  right  to  say  it 
means  another  man.  I  never  said  I'd  wed  you,  and 
again  and  again,  when  you've  pressed  it,  I  told  you 
not  to  hope  for  any  such  thing." 


282  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  You  was  coming  to  it  so  fast  as  jou  could,"  he 
declared,  "  and  you  was  in  two  minds  when  last  I 
offered,  else  you  wouldn't  have  took  time  to  think ;  but 
now,  just  because  a  certain  fool —  However,  I'm  not 
here  to  talk  of  anybody  else  —  I'm  here  to  talk  of  you ; 
and  if  you  turn  me  down  now,  'tis  as  good  as  jilting  me, 
and  you'll  be  disgraced  so  long  as  you  live." 

But  Jenifer  wouldn't  allow  that. 

"  You're  a  coward  and  a  bully  to  say  any  such 
thing,"  she  told  him,  "  and,  what's  more,  you  know  it 
isn't  true,  or  anywhere  near  true.  There's  no  call  to 
give  you  reasons :  it's  enough  for  you  to  know  I'm  not 
going  to  marry  you.  And  if  you  go  round  saying  I've 
jilted  you,  there  may  be  '  a  certain  fool,'  as  you  put  it, 
who'll  want  to  know  the  reason  why." 

"  Let  him  come,  then,"  answered  Tommy.  "  I  ban't 
afeard  of  3^our  friends,  I  assure  you." 

She  Avas  going  from  him  as  fast  as  her  legs  could 
carry  her  by  that  time,  and  so  he  changed  his  note  and 
calmed  dowTi,  and  begged  her  to  forgive  him. 

"  'Tis  small  wonder  I  lost  my  temper,  Jenifer,  for 
this  properly  ruins  my  life,"  he  said.  But  she  had  been 
rubbed  up  the  wrong  way  too  much  to  calm  down  very 
easy.  She  began  to  distrust  him,  and  it  was  some  time 
before  she  got  gentle  again.  Then,  finding  him  contrite 
seemingly,  she  forgave  him  on  condition  he'd  say  no 
more  on  the  subject.  They  parted,  calm  to  the  eyes, 
though  she  smarted  still,  and  he  had  ten  wakeful  and 
revengeful  devils  hid  in  his  breast. 

Already  he  was  looking  on  ahead,  and  his  lawless 
nature  broke  loose,  and  he  began  to  think  evil  things 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  283 

against  Jenifer  and  the  innocent  man  who  had  carried 
her  across  the  stream.  For,  from  the  first  minute, 
Tommy  had  left  a  loophole  for  himself,  and  while  an- 
other man  would  have  plumped  out  what  he  knew,  and 
accused  the  girl  of  changing  her  mind  because  of  the 
adventure  with  Andy  Polwarn,  this  man  was  too  cau- 
tious for  that.  He'd  thought  it  out  before  he  went 
to  Jenifer,  and  now,  as  the  result  of  keeping  his  mouth 
shut  on  that  subject,  he  found  himself  in  a  safe  and 
strong  position  to  do  the  evil  in  his  heart.  For  he 
argued  that  Andy  had  come  between  him  and  the  hope 
of  his  life,  and  he  also  argued  that,  if  Andy  weren't 
there,  Jenifer  would  very  soon  see  sense  again  and  take 
him. 

And  meantime  t'other  man  found  himself  in  love,  head 
over  tail,  and  it  made  him  melancholy  and  doubtful. 
For  he  was  never  one  to  set  much  store  on  himself,  and 
now,  when  he  pictured  offering  for  such  a  piece  as 
Jenifer,  he  felt  his  own  unworthiness,  and  doubted  not 
that  such  a  bold  thought  could  never  come  to  anything 
at  all.  And  first  he  done  a  very  clever  thing,  and  went 
to  his  sister,  and  bade  her  find  out  if  Jenifer  was  a 
heart-whole  maid,  or  if,  as  seemed  more  likely,  such  a 
beautiful  creature  was  tokened  to  a  man  worthy  of 
her.  Because,  if  that  was  so,  Andy  felt  he'd  better  give 
up  his  dreams  at  once.  But  Jane  Polwarn,  who  knew 
Jenifer  very  well,  felt  sure  that  she  was  free  to  be 
courted,  though  she  also  knew  that  Tommy  Jago  was 
a  friend  of  hers,  and  told  Andy  as  much. 

"  Never !  "  said  her  simple  brother.  "  Why,  I  men- 
tioned the  maiden's  name  to  Jago  not  long  ago,  and  he 


284  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

said  that  he'd  never  wed  one  of  'em,  and  had  no  use  for 
the  girls !  " 

"  To  put  jou  off,  no  doubt,"  answered  Jane. 

However,  she  knew  Jenifer  Avell  enough  to  be  personal, 
and,  guessing  that  Andy  was  thinking  about  her  seri- 
ous, Jane  soon  took  occasion  to  go  into  the  question. 
Then  she  told  her  brother  the  truth  about  it. 

"  Her  and  your  mate  in  the  quarry  are  good  friends, 
and  have  walked  out  together  a  bit,  and  think  the  same 
about  a  good  many  subjects,  both  being  very  clever  in 
the  matter  of  brains,"  said  Jane ;  "  but  there's  nothing 
between  them  on  Jenifer's  side,  though  Tommy  may 
wish  there  was.  He's  after  her  very  fierce,  without  a 
doubt,  but  there's  nought  to  it  at  present  so  far  as 
Jenifer  Keat's  concerned." 

From  that  day  forward  Andy  began  to  fret  and 
worrit,  because  he  had  a  terrible  fair  pattern  of  mind, 
and,  even  in  love,  didn't  find  himself  as  selfish  as  you'd 
expect.  He  wondered  a  lot  if  he  had  a  right  to  try  and 
cut  Tommy  out,  and  he  couldn't  make  up  his  mind. 
Then  he  told  himself  it  was  impossible,  and  Jenifer 
would  never  look  at  him  beside  such  a  clever  man  as 
Jago.  He  lost  his  sleep,  and  grew  wonderful  restless, 
and  gave  himself  away  in  the  eyes  of  liis  mother,  who 
very  soon  saw  the  change  that  had  come  over  him. 

Then  a  most  curious  thing  happened,  for  one  night, 
sick  of  tossing  sleepless  in  his  bed,  Andy  rose  up,  rayed 
himself,  and  went  out  of  doors  in  the  moonlight  to  calm 
his  thoughts  and  decide,  once  for  all,  if  he  would  go  on 
with  it  and  ax  Jenifer  to  take  a  walk,  or  give  it  up  and 
put  hope  out  of  his  mind. 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  285 

And  the  moon  decided  him  to  go  on  with  it.  He  was 
walking  round  the  lip  of  the  quarry  at  the  time  — 
tramping  round  over  the  broken  ground  above  the  great 
precipices  that  fall  to  the  workings  far  below  and  then, 
suddenly,  just  as  he  had  begun  to  get  ashamed  of 
his  silliness,  and  decided  to  go  to  Jenifer  red-hot  and 
chance  it,  he  heard  a  most  unexpected  sound  far  down 
below  him.  'Twas  the  note  of  a  tamping  iron  driving 
a  drill,  and  though  a  very  common,  everyday  noise  to 
any  quarryman's  ear,  to  hear  it  then,  at  two  in  the 
morning,  rising  softly  from  the  black  depths  of  the 
quarries  when  every  man  of  all  those  hundreds  of  work- 
ers was  in  bed  and  asleep  except  himself,  surprised 
Andy  amazing.  At  first  he  thought  he  fancied  it; 
but  there  was  no  mistake,  and  for  a  minute  he  even 
forgot  Jenifer  before  such  a  startling  tiling.  He  didn't 
believe  in  fairies,  good  or  bad,  nor  yet  in  the  old  stories 
about  friendly  pixies  helping  the  men  in  the  works ; 
but  now  his  doubt  was  shook.  He  ordained  with  him- 
self to  go  down,  and  down  he  went;  and  then,  finding 
himself  in  the  works,  all  so  deserted  and  strange  under 
the  moon,  half  silver  bright  and  half  dead  black  in  the 
shadow,  Andy  admitted  afterwards  that  a  funny  sen- 
sation came  over  him,  like  as  if  things  was  crawling  on 
his  skin,  and  he  shouted,  to  keep  up  his  courage,  and 
bawled  out  to  know  who  was  there  and  what  they  was 
doing. 

'Twas  a  queer  sort  of  adventure  altogether,  because 
the  place,  so  familiar  by  day,  had  altered  by  night,  and 
everything  looked  different.  A  rat  or  two  squeaked 
away  before  him  in  the  bottom,  for  there's  lots  of  rats 


286  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

in  the  quarries ;  but  the  sound  of  the  tamping  iron 
ceased  the  moment  he  shouted,  and  then  happened  a 
tiling  that  brought  back  Andy's  nerve,  for,  though 
terrible  odd  in  itself,  it  showed  that  a  man,  and  not  a 
ghost  or  a  fairy,  was  responsible  for  the  noise  he'd 
heard.  Suddenly,  under  the  white,  moony  light,  he  saw 
a  figure  making  off  afore  liim.  'Twas  a  man,  and  that 
was  all  he  could  tell  about  it;  and  the  man  seemed  in  a 
good  bit  of  a  hurry,  for  he  climbed  up  the  east  side  of 
the  great  pit,  along  old,  disused  galleries  and  ledges, 
and  made  no  answer  to  Andy  when  he  shouted  again  and 
axed  him  who  he  was.  In  less  than  no  time  the  fellow 
vanished,  and,  wondering  a  good  bit  who  it  might  be, 
young  Polwarn  climbed  out  himself  and  went  home. 

He'd  turned  back  to  his  own  thoughts  before  he  crept 
to  his  bed,  and  the  night  wandering  had  done  one  tiling 
for  him.  It  determined  him  to  have  a  dash  at  Jenifer, 
because  he'd  heard  the  saying  that  all  is  fair  in  love, 
and  since  there  weren't  nobody  tokened  to  her,  he  felt 
he  had  so  good  a  right  to  offer  as  any  other  man. 

And  next  day  he  told  his  adventure  to  Tommy  Jago ; 
but  he  forgot  that  the  story  had  two  sides,  and  was  a 
bit  flustered  when  his  mate  put  a  question. 

Tommy  laughed  the  tale  to  scorn  and  said  as  the 
other  must  have  dreamed  it.     Then  he  asked: 

"  And  if  'tis  true  as  you  think,  and  you  was  out  there 
mooning  about  at  two  in  the  morning,  perhaps  you'll 
tell  me  why.^*  " 

Andy,  being  the  soul  of  fairness,  had  to  grant  it  a 
fair  question,  but  he  weren't  prepared  to  answer  all  the 
truth. 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  287 

"  No  doubt  it  seems  strange,"  he  said ;  "  but  I'd  got 
something  a  good  bit  on  my  mind,  and  couldn't  sleep, 
so  I  slipped  on  my  clothes  and  came  for  a  walk." 

The  other  laughed  sourly  at  that,  and  very  well  knew 
what  Andy  didn't  tell  him. 

"  You'd  better  take  your  secrets  to  them  with  more 
wits  than  what  you  got  yourself,"  he  answered,  "  then, 
perhaps,  you'll  get  light  thrown  on  'em." 

"  I  shall,  for  that  matter,"  answered  Polwam.  "  I 
was  in  doubt  what  to  do  about  a  certain  thing,  but  now 
I  ain't.  I  be  going  to  take  my  secrets  to  somebody 
mighty  soon." 

His  resolves,  however,  all  came  to  nought,  for  a 
proper  fearful  tragedy  overtook  the  young  man  two 
days  after,  and,  but  for  the  watching  Lord,  his  thread 
would  have  been  cut  afore  the  next  Sunday  came  round. 
Anyway,  he  didn't  go  courting  for  many  a  long  month 
after  that. 

It  happened  like  this.  Andy  and  Tom  were  working 
in  a  bit  of  a  tunnel  drove  in  the  solid  face  of  the  rock, 
where  Andy's  father,  the  foreman,  reckoned  there  was 
a  very  fine  bunch  of  slate,  if  only  it  could  be  got  at. 
But  tunnel  work  weren't  favoured  at  St.  Tid,  because 
for  countless  generations  the  men  had  toiled  in  open 
quarries,  and  when  the  new  way  was  tried,  same  as 
they  do  in  Wales  and  Pennsylvania,  where  there's 
many  a  Cornishman  working  from  the  Old  Country,  the 
men  grumbled  a  bit. 

However,  them  in  command  hoped  to  prove  them- 
selves right,  so  the  tunnel  was  going  in,  and  Andy 
Polwarn  and  Tommy  Jago  were  at  it.     And  there  came 


288  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

a  fatal  day  when  Andy  was  at  the  face  of  the  rock, 
twenty  feet  inside  the  mouth,  up  on  a  ledge,  breaking 
through  a  curtain  of  quartz  to  get  to  better  things 
beyond.  He  was  hammering  away,  with  his  thoughts 
on  Jenifer,  no  doubt,  and  quite  by  chance  he  happened 
to  stop  a  minute  and  look  round.  God  had  turned  his 
head  at  the  critical  moment.  Then,  not  six  yards 
from  him  and  down  below,  he  saw  a  fearful  thing.  For 
there  was  a  time-fuse  burning  briskly,  and  evidently 
joined  up  to  a  charge  of  dynamite  in  the  solid  rock 
under  his  feet.  And  beyond  it  he  saw  Jago  creeping 
awa}'  out  of  the  tunnel  so  fast  as  he  could  go. 

Andy  gave  a  shout,  worse  luck,  for,  if  he'd  kept  his 
mouth  shut  and  jumped  for  it,  he  might  have  got  clear 
in  time;  but  the  shout  brought  Tommy  back,  and  he 
saw  in  a  flash  that  his  plot  had  failed.  He  had  drove  a 
drill,  you  see,  where  no  drill  ought  to  have  been,  and  he 
knew  that  if  he  could  explode  a  charge  there,  with  his 
rival  to  work,  the  whole  back  end  of  the  tunnel  would 
come  in  and  Andy  be  crushed  to  pulp.  And  'twas  him, 
of  course,  that  Polwam  had  heard  tamping  in  secret. 
He  had  hid  up  his  drill  hole  by  day,  and  now,  taking 
the  moment  when  Polwarn  was  up  top  out  of  the  way, 
he  fired  a  charge  and  was  slipping  out  when  he  found 
himself  and  his  wickedness  discovered. 

An  awful  fight  began  between  them  then,  for,  as 
Andy  bent  for  the  fuse,  Jago  catched  him  behind  and 
dragged  him  away. 

"  If  I've  got  to  die,  too,  you  shall !  "  screamed  the 
wretch,  and  he  hung  on  to  his  rival  and  pinioned  his 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  289 

arms,  so  as  he  couldn't  get  one  free  to  smite  him. 
Within  five  yards  of  the  fuse  they  fought,  and  other  men, 
hearing  the  rumpus,  ran  up ;  but  Andy  shouted  to  'em 
to  keep  away.  The  time  seemed  long  to  him,  no  doubt, 
hanging  on  the  brink  of  eternity ;  but  it  weren't  above 
thirty  seconds  all  told,  from  the  moment  he  jumped  off 
the  ledge  to  the  moment  the  dynamite  exploded.  There 
was  a  proper  roar  in  the  tunnel,  and  smoke  and  thunder 
belched  out,  and  solid  tons  of  rock  was  fetched  down 
and  pitched  about  like  pats  of  butter.  But  a  moment 
before  the  explosion  Tommy  had  got  a  wrestler's  hold 
on  t'other,  and  throwed  him  flat.  And  that  made  all 
the  difference  between  death  and  life  for  the  innocent 
man. 

When  the  smoke  was  clear,  fifty  chaps  set  to  work 
and  got  to  the  pair  inside ;  and  they  found  that  Jago 
was  not  there.  The  wretched  creature  had  been  blown 
to  ribbons,  and  they  only  got  him  out  in  pieces  ;  but 
Polwarn,  though  badly  battered  and  to  all  seeming  dead 
as  t'other,  was  whole.  They  picked  him  up  and  carried 
him  to  the  trolleys,  and  ran  him  up  to  the  pappot  head 
so  quick  as  might  be.  And  that  night  he  lay  in  his 
home  insensible  and  one  leg  gone,  but  a  living  creature 
still,  with  his  great  strength  and  clean  life  behind  him 
to  offer  the  doctors  a  morsel  of  hope. 

They  didn't  give  none,  however,  and  said  afterwards 
that  it  was  not  their  skill,  but  the  nursing  Andy  gob 
from  his  mother  that  kept  the  flicker  in  him  for  the 
first  four-and-twenty  hours.  But  live  he  did,  by  a 
miracle,  and  though  a  shadow  rather  than  a  man  for 


290  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

six  months  afterwards,  he  got  a  bit  of  his  old  strength 
back  at  last,  and  when  his  wooden  leg  came  he  was 
ready  for  it. 

For  a  week  his  wits  was  lost,  and  when  he  came  back 
to  them,  he  told  his  story,  and  showed  terrible  clear  how 
the  dead  man  had  plotted  to  take  his  life.  But  why 
for,  none  in  the  world  knew,  unless  it  was  Jenifer  Keat. 
Andy,  however,  had  gived  up  all  thought  of  her  when 
he  came  to  his  senses  and  found  a  leg  gone.  He  was 
terrible  weak,  and  confided  in  his  sister,  while  she  sat 
by  liim  to  mind  him,  after  he'd  turned  the  corner  out  of 
danger. 

"  I  confess  to  you,"  he  said,  "  that  I'd  lifted  my  eyes 
to  her.  But  I  weren't  good  enough  even  as  a  whole 
man,  and  to  offer  the  girl  half  a  man  would  be  only  to 
insult  such  a  wonder  as  Jenifer." 

Jane  listened  and  said  little.  But  she  had  her  ideas, 
and,  though  she  didn't  contradict  Andy,  she  told  the 
story  to  somebody  else,  with  far-reaching  results. 
Because  it  didn't  make  no  matter  of  difference  to 
Jenifer  that  the  man  she  loved  had  lost  a  leg.  She  was 
only  cruel  sorry  that  the  leastest  bit  of  such  a  precious 
creature  had  gone. 

"  But  there's  enough  left  to  love,  I  reckon,"  she  said 
to  Jane,  fierce-like. 

"  His  face  be  spared,  you  must  know,"  Andy's 
cunning  sister  told  Jenifer,  "  and  doctor  says,  when 
the  stitches  come  out  of  his  cheek,  there'll  be  nought 
but  a  scar  or  two." 

"  Scarred  or  not,  he's  Andy,  and  that's  enough  for 
me,"  confessed  Jenifer;  and  so  the  strange  thing  hap- 


JENIFER  AND  THE  TWAIN  291 

pened  that  she  took  the  first  step,  as  if  she  was  a  royal 
queen,  and  when  she  come  to  see  the  sick  man  in 
fulness  of  time,  'twas  she  as  told  him  plump  out  that 
she  loved  him  and  couldn't  live  without  him.  He 
was  so  weak  that  he  very  near  fainted  at  the  great 
news ;  but  it  done  him  a  world  of  good,  notwithstanding, 
and  helped  the  doctors  at  their  work  on  the  man  without 
a  doubt. 

And  now,  if  you  was  to  go  to  Launceston  some  day 
and  call  at  the  big  grocer's  shop  in  Market  Street,  'tis 
any  odds  but  you'd  see  Andy  Polwam  behind  the  coun- 
ter, for  he's  partner  with  his  uncle,  and  he'll  have  it  all 
when  the  old  man  drops. 

He  lives  nigh  his  work,  in  a  very  nice  little  house 
along  with  Jenifer,  and  she  worships  every  hair  of  his 
head,  and  sets  him  liigh  above  their  three  childer,  though 
very  fond  of  them,  too,  specially  the  eldest  boy,  who  be 
the  daps  of  his  father.  But  his  three-year-old  maid  is 
Andy's  favourite,  because  she's  got  her  mother's  eyes 
and  her  mother's  way  of  holding  her  head. 


PANTING  AFTER  CHRISTOPHER 

Mercy  Parsons  was  born  with  a  masterful  nature. 
It  looked  as  if  Providence  knowed  she  would  be  a  power 
at  St.  Tid,  and  gave  her  the  proper  disposition  accord- 
ingly. At  seventeen,  when  her  grandfather  died  and 
left  her  all  his  money  —  fifteen  hundred  pound  —  she 
hoarded  it  very  clever  and  didn't  touch  a  penn}^  of  the 
capital,  but  left  it  to  goody.  To  Christopher  Tonkin 
she  took  it,  under-forenian  at  the  slate  quarry ;  and  that 
showed  her  sense  even  at  seventeen,  for  Christopher  was 
the  cleverest  man  at  St.  Tid  though  but  five-and-twenty. 
To  be  under-foreman  at  that  age  was  a  record  of  a 
wonder  in  itself ;  and,  more  than  that,  he  was  a  leading 
local  preacher  with  the  United  Methodists,  and  stood 
for  St.  Tid  in  the  Parish  Council.  At  figures  none 
could  toucli  him,  and  Mercy,  when  she  got  her  wind- 
fall, went  to  the  man  and  asked  him  to  look  into  the 
money  for  her.  Which  he  did  do,  and  found  it  was 
onh^  drawing  three  and  a  half  per  centum,  and  soon 
put  it  out  where  it  was  good  for  four.  They'd  known 
each  other  all  their  lives,  and  Christopher  always 
thought  Mercy  was  a  child ;  but  now  he  found  that  she'd 
grown  up.  In  fact,  she  showed  an  uncommon  lot  of 
sense,  and  he  respected  her  strength  of  character. 
Because  it  takes  a  strong  person  to  like  a  strong  one. 

When  weak  folk  run  against  a  strong  one,  it  irks  them, 

292 


PANTING  AFTER  CHRISTOPHER       293 

because  we  all  would  rather  herd  with  our  owti  kind  for 
choice. 

Christopher  was  an  oi^phan  and  lived  with  his  old 
aunt,  who  had  to  choose  between  the  union  and  keeping 
house  for  Christopher.  And  then  ]\Iercy  became  an 
orphan  too,  along  of  her  mother  dying,  and  she  was  left 
a  good  cottage  and  another  clear  two  hundred  a  year 
above  what  she  got  from  her  grandfather's  money. 
Two  hundred  and  sixty  she  drew,  and  everybody  knew 
it  and  wondered  who  would  be  the  lucky  man. 

She  was  one  of  them  strong-faced,  healthy  girls  — 
flaxen  and  full-bosomed  —  with  blue  eyes  as  bright  as 
they  were  hard.  The  people  respected  her,  and  knew 
her  head  was  screwed  on  the  right  way,  and  felt  she'd 
be  a  credit  to  the  parish  and  never  make  no  mistakes  or 
do  the  wrong  thing ;  but  they  didn't  go  to  her  for  help, 
or  offer  to  borrow  a  shilling  now  and  then,  or  anything 
like  that,  because  they  felt  without  words  she  wasn't 
that   sort. 

She  had  a  high  hand  and  kept  her  own  secrets  and 
never  gossiped  about  anything  or  anybody.  And  if 
she  had,  I  dare  say  the  people  would  have  liked  her 
better.  But  a  secret  she  held,  though  it  was  such  a 
terrible  queer  one,  that  she  wouldn't  have  whispered  it 
to  her  own  heart,  let  alone  the  ear  of  anybody  else.  She 
was  eighteen  when  her  mother  died,  and  she  took  a  maid- 
of-all-work  and  had  the  cottage  done  up  from  floor  to 
basement,  and  sold  a  good  bit  of  the  old  furniture  and 
bought  new  and  lived  like  a  lady.  'Twas  a  great  source 
of  admiration  to  St.  Tid,  I  do  assure  you,  to  see  such  a 
young    thing    so    commanding.      No    airs    or    graces 


294  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

exactly,  yet  a  way  with  her  —  a  sort  of  keep-your- 
distance  and  mind-your-own-business  sort  of  way.  Not 
that  she  was  unfriendly  or  ungracious.  Christopher 
Tonkin  said  that  she  was  a  fine,  self-respecting  creature, 
and  a  very  good  example  to  all  the  young  folk  of  St. 
Tid  in  his  opinion,  so  presently  the  people,  seeing  'em 
together  once  or  twice  —  at  a  free  luncheon  of  the 
United  Methodists  and  so  on  —  gave  it  out  that  like 
would  to  like,  and  that  they'd  be  tokened  some  fine 
day  in  the  eyes  of  the  nation.  But  others,  who  knew 
Christopher  better,  said  that  he  was  far  too  ambitious 
a  man  to  hamper  hisself  with  a  wife  before  he  was  thirty ; 
while  as  for  money,  it  weren't  no  temptation  to  him, 
because  he  had  no  vices  and  never  drank,  nor  smoked, 
nor  went  away  for  week-ends,  nor  nothing  like  that. 
He  just  lived  for  the  quarries  and  worked  early  and 
late ;  and  he  never  missed  chapel,  and  he  never  missed  a 
meeting  of  the  Parish  Council.  Every  minute  of  his 
time  was  put  into  work,  and,  even  if  he'd  wanted  to  go 
courting,  it  didn't  look  as  if  it  would  fit  into  the  life  he'd 
planned  for  himself.  Still,  the  busiest  man  can  find  time 
for  that,  and  in  truth  Christopher  had  thought  a  bit 
about  Mercy  —  the  more  so  because,  not  being  blind, 
he  could  see  she  was  addicted  to  him  and  always  pleased 
to  see  him.  But  he  had  his  ideas  about  what  a  wife 
should  be,  and  he  reckoned  there  was  lots  of  time  to 
watch  Mercy  and  mark  how  her  character  went  on. 
Maybe  he  undervalued  her  through  ignorance,  for 
his  bulldog  knew  more  about  women  than  he  did.  In 
fact,  his  views  on  the  female  question  were  very  old- 
fashioned  indeed.     However,  that  didn't  interfere  with 


PANTING  AFTER  CHRISTOPHER        295 

his  usefulness,  for  he  was  a  tower  of  sense,  and  once, 
when  the  chairman  of  the  Council  was  away,  he  took 
the  chair,  and  they  all  agreed  none  could  have  done  it 
better.  He  was  heart  and  soul  for  St.  Tid,  and  it  was 
thanks  to  him  that  the  village  got  the  electric  light  from 
the  quarries,  and  our  streets  were  bright  as  day  in  the 
winter  evenings.  And  other  good  things  he  also  did. 
A  dark,  hatchet-faced  man  he  was,  with  keen,  black 
eyes  and  little  whiskers  and  moustache,  and  a  thin  figure 
of  middle  height.  Always  very  nice  in  his  manners  and 
always  bright  and  cheerful  to  the  greatest  and  least. 
But  a  good  conceit  of  himself  and  quite  alive  to  what 
the  people  owed  him. 

And  Mercy  Parsons  loved  him  —  that  was  the 
English  of  it.  She  knew  it,  and  she  knew  more  than 
that.  She'd  summed  him  up  to  a  hair,  and  felt  positive 
certain  that  she  was  the  woman  for  him.  Her  love 
didn't  blind  —  she  wasn't  the  sort  to  be  blinded  by 
anything;  but  it  quickened  her  fine  understanding,  and 
she  looked  at  herself  from  the  outside,  if  you  under- 
stand me,  and  saw  quite  clear  that  she  was  the  very 
mate  for  Christopher,  and  would  double  his  strength 
and  help  him  on  the  ambitious  road  he  was  going.  She 
felt  positive  that  she  would  see  with  his  eyes  most  times, 
and  didn't  doubt  but  that  she  would  be  right  herself, 
when  he  happened  to  be  wrong.  There  was  something 
of  a  mother's  love  in  it,  I  believe,  for  there's  a  bit  of 
the  mother  mixed  up  in  every  real  woman's  love  for  a 
man.  Despite  all  his  common  sense  and  strength,  she 
felt  older  than  him  in  many  things,  and  was  more  and 
more  impressed  with  the  fact  that  she'd  dearly  like  to 


296  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

wed  liim,  and  that  'twould  be  the  cleverest  day's  work 
of  all  his  clever  ones  if  he  took  her. 

But  the  time  went  on  and  he  didn't.  'Tis  a  sign  of 
your  own  strength,  of  course,  to  find  yourself  opposed, 
and  Mercy  didn't  let  her  secret  hurt  her.  She  waited 
and  watched,  and  wasn't  sorry  when  Christopher  had 
a  rival.  In  fact,  it  interested  her  above  a  bit,  and  she 
was  gentle  and  patient  with  the  man  who  now  came  into 
her  life.  She'd  rather  have  died  than  marry  Billy 
Blane,  the  miller,  who  now  came  along  and  began  to 
court  her,  because  he  wasn't  her  sort  by  a  thousand 
miles ;  but  none  could  question  his  right  to  offer,  for  he 
was  a  well-to-do  man,  in  a  good  way  of  business,  and, 
though  a  bit  old  for  Mercy,  not  too  old  in  the  eyes  of 
the  people  or  his  own. 

Five-and- forty  Billy  might  have  been.  He  was  a 
pale-faced  widower,  and  folk  said  that  along  of  being  in 
the  dust  of  ground  corn  all  his  life,  he'd  took  the  colour. 
In  fact,  he  was  always  dusty  up  to  his  hair.  He  had  no 
childreil,  and  was  whispered  to  be  weak  in  the  lungs ;  but 
he  was  a  straightforward  sort  of  man,  and  held  his  head 
high,  and  took  himself  serious. 

Billy  wasn't  at  the  age  when  a  man  wastes  time,  and 
he  showed  very  soon  that  he  meant  business  with  Mercy. 
And  everybody  wondered  what  Christopher  Tonkin 
would  do  about  it,  and  JMercy  most  of  all.  But  he  did 
nothing.  Of  course,  he  knew  what  was  afoot  —  nothing 
escaped  him  —  but  he  didn't  love  Mercy,  and  he  wasn't 
jealous,  and  he  felt  that  if  she  took  the  miller  that  was 
proof  positive  that  she  wasn't  the  wife  for  him ;  and  that 


PANTING  AFTER  CHRISTOPHER       297 

if  she  didn't  take  the  miller,  things  were  as  before  and 
no  harm  done.      So  he  went  his  busy  way. 

Then  Mercy  did  a  proper  outrageous  thing,  and  it 
wasn't  for  years  afterwards  that  anybody  ever  got  to 
hear  tell  about  it.  There  happened  a  Sunday  evening, 
after  Christopher  had  preached  a  very  good  sermon  and 
prayed  a  very  far-reaching  prayer  at  the  chapel,  and 
when  he  came  out  the  girl  waylaid  him. 

"  If  you've  got  a  few  spare  minutes,"  she  said,  "  I'll 
thank  you  to  have  a  bit  of  talk  with  me,  Christopher." 

"  And  welcome,"  he  answered.  "  Come  in  to  supper 
with  me  and  my  aunt." 

She  expected  that,  and  went  along  with  him. 

"  How  did  you  find  the  sermon  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  didn't  listen  to  it,"  she  answered.  "  I've  got  a 
good  bit  on  my  mind  for  the  minute." 

"  So  we  all  have,"  he  said,  "  but  we  ought  to  put  it 
away  when  we  come  to  chapel,  and  go  afore  the  Throne 
of  Grace  with  an  open  heart." 

■'  I  know  all  that,"  she  said.  "  You're  an  amazing 
man,  Christopher.  I  don't  believe  there's  a  calling  in 
life  you  wouldn't  have  shone  at.  Whatever  you  had 
took  up  you'd  have  gone  on  with  it  till  you  came  out 
top." 

"  You  was  always  too  kind  in  your  opinions  of  me, 
Mercy,"  he  answered;  "  and  for  that  matter,  so  far  as 
one  can  say  it  of  such  a  young  woman,  you're  as 
wonderful  as  I  am.  'Tis  character,  and,  thank  the 
Lord,  we've  both  got  it." 

"  So  we  have,"  she  said,  "  and  so  far  as  I  can  see, 


298  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

only  us  in  all  St.  Tid.  It  mazes  me  to  mark  what  slack- 
twisted,  silly  minds  the  men  and  women  have.  You're 
a  tower  of  strength  among  the  men,  and  if  I  was  called 
to  public  life,  I'd  be  the  same  among  the  women." 

"  Not  that  I  hold  with  public  life  for  females,"  he 
answered  her.  "  A  woman's  best  place  is  at  the  right- 
hand  of  a  strong  man." 

"  So  I  think,"  she  said,  quick  as  lightning,  "  and 
that's  what  I  want  to  talk  about.  There's  a  man  wants 
me  —  cruel  bad  he  wants  me,  and  —  I " 

"  Leave  it  till  we've  had  supper,"  he  advised.  "  I 
know  who  'tis  very  well.  I'll  go  a  bit  further  and  say 
I'm  a  bit  surprised  at  his  cheek." 

Well,  that  was  a  remark  that  pleased  Mercy  Parsons. 
Perhaps  Christopher  couldn't  have  said  anything  to 
have  pleased  her  better  for  the  moment ;  so  she  left  it, 
and  they  talked  of  Christopher  and  what  he  was  doing, 
and  what  he  was  meaning  to  do;  which  are  the  subjects 
that  always  interest  a  strong  man  most.  And  then, 
after  she'd  took  supper  with  him,  and  his  aunt  was  in 
the  scullery  washing  up,  he  invited  her  to  speak. 

"  Of  course  we  all  know  'tis  Billy  Blane,"  he  said. 
"  He's  a  very  good  miller,  I  doubt  not ;  but  —  however, 
it  ain't  for  me  to  say  nothing  against  Billy." 

"  He  came  over  two  nights  agone  and  offered  mar- 
riage. You've  got  to  see  a  man  in  love  to  understand 
his  character,  Christopher,  and  I  may  say  that  Mr. 
Blane  astonished  me.  Under  all  that  flour  he's  dusted 
over  with,  he's  a  fierce  creature.  He  was  very  much  in 
earnest.  He  offered  for  me  very  nice,  and  as  I  weren't 
in  the  least  excited  myself  and  expected  it,  I  kept  calm 


PANTING  AFTER  CHRISTOPHER       299 

and  cool,  and  was  able  to  criticize  the  man  in  his  fiery 
moments.  It  was  rather  fine  in  a  way  to  see  a  middle- 
aged  person  in  such  a  frame  of  mind.  His  eye  flashed 
and  his  forehead  got  dewy  and  he  looked  ten  years 
younger  than  his  age.  I  daresay  that  a  good  many 
maidens  would  have  taken  him.  But  in  his  highest 
moments  I  couldn't  help  thinking  of  you  somehow,  and 
picturing  you  offering  a  woman  marriage.  It  ought  to 
be  a  dignified  thing,  in  my  opinion.  And  so,  no  doubt, 
it  would  be  if  you  was  courting." 

He   nodded. 

"  Ess  fay  —  an  offer  for  a  life-long  partnership 
ought  to  be  dignified  —  not  to  say  cautious.  And  what 
did  you  answer,  if  I  may  ask.''  " 

"  You  don't  need  to  ask  surely  ?  You,  of  all  men ! 
We're  not  childer,  and  there's  no  false  pride  about  me, 
though  plenty  of  proper  pride,  I  believe." 

"  Plenty,  I  should  hope." 

"  I  told  him  that  he  paid  a  great  compliment  to  me, 
but  that  it  couldn't  be." 

"  Of  course  not  —  a  man  old  enough  for  j'our  father. 
And  what  next.^  " 

"  He  mopped  himself  and  sighed,  and  said  he  had  a 
right  to  know  if  there  was  another  had  come  between." 

"He  hadn't,"  declared  Christopher.  "That  just 
shows  Billy.  You  gave  him  '  no,'  and  there  was  an  end 
of  it." 

"  Well,  I  felt,  somehow,  I  owed  him  something.  I'm 
a  cruel,  honest  woman,  and  couldn't  tell  a  lie  to  a  snail, 
let  alone  a  man.  There  was  another,  of  course,  and  I 
told  him  so." 


300  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

Christopher  flushed  up  at  that. 

"  And  you  know  who  it  was,  I  should  hope,"  she  said. 

"  I  might  and  I  might  not,"  he  replied.  "  I  may 
have  thought  perhaps." 

"  Why  —  you,  you,  3'ou,  are  the  man !  And  well  you 
know  it.  I've  loved  you  all  my  life,  I  believe.  And  I've 
often  wondered  whether  you'd  be  better  with  me  at  your 
elbow,  or  better  without.  You're  too  busy  to  think  of 
such  things,  but  I've  got  plenty  of  time,  owing  to  being 
so  methodical,  and  I've  often  felt  that  very  thing  you 
said  just  now  so  positive." 

He  was  cool  again  and  watchful  as  a  hawk. 

"  And  what  did  I  say  just  now?  "  he  asked. 

"  That  a  strong  man  was  stronger  for  a  strong 
woman  at  his  elbow." 

"  '  Better,'  not  '  stronger,'  "  he  corrected  her. 

There  was  a  bit  of  a  pause  then. 

"  To  be  better  is  to  be  stronger,"  she  said.  "  How- 
ever, it  ain't  for  me  to  say  no  more.  Perhaps  I've  said 
too  much." 

"  You  have  and  you  haven't,"  he  answered,  like  a 
lawyer.  He  was  always  balancing  his  words  that  way. 
"  You've  been  very  generous  and  oncoming,  and  for 
my  part  I  don't  see  why  not.  You're  rich  and  you've 
got  a  barrel-load  of  sense,  and  you  don't  let  little  silly 
manners  and  customs  come  between  you  and  what's  in 
your  mind.  And  that's  to  the  good:  I'm-  with  you 
there.  But  when  it  came  to  Billy  Blane  asking  you  to 
name  the  man,  you  ought  to  have  withstood  him.  Now 
he'll  go  about  saying  that  we're  engaged ;  and  we  ain't." 

She    hadn't    got    nothing   to    answer,    so    she   didn't 


PANTING  APTER  CHRISTOPHER       301 

answer  nothing.  She  felt  that  she'd  fired  her  shot  and 
missed.  She  got  up  to  go  and  he  got  up  hkewise.  Both 
were  cool  as  fishes  outwardly,  whatever  they  were 
inside. 

"  I  feel  a  lot  flattered  about  it,  however,"  he  said. 
"  I  don't  think  none  the  worse  of  you,  Mercy  —  far  from 
it.  I'm  a  very  busy  man  and  playing  a  big  game,  but 
I  find  m^^self  exceedingly  proud  of  being  your  friend. 
I  shan't  forget  what  you've  said.  And  this  I  can  tell 
you :  I've  set  you  a  lot  higher  than  any  other  woman  on 
earth.  We'll  leave  it  at  that,  if  you  please.  And  if 
you  can  help  me  at  any  time,  I  shall  let  you  know. 
And  if  I  can  help  you,  I  shall  be  very  proud  to  do  it." 

Then  they  parted,  and  she  went  off  proper  mad  with 
anger  at  herself,  and  he  turned  it  over  very  serious 
indeed.  He  was  pleased  in  a  quiet  sort  of  way  with  the 
night's  work,  for  he  thought  the  world  of  her  —  when 
he'd  got  time  to  think  of  her  at  all,  which  wasn't  often ; 
but  she  didn't  know  how  he  was  regarding  her  offer  of 
marriage,  and  it  got  on  her  nerves  presently,  and  she 
began  to  fret  to  think  how  she'd  demeaned  herself  before 
him.  But,  of  course,  he  didn't  know  she  was  fretting. 
He  thought  she'd  done  a  thing  that  was  quite  becoming 
in  a  rich  and  handsome  woman,  and  didn't  know  that 
what's  in  a  man's  blood  to  do,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
be  often  only  done  by  a  woman  at  fearful  cost  and 
against  her  instinct.  Impulsive  people  always  have  to 
pay  a  long  price,  sooner  or  late. 

Mercy  met  him  a  month  later  and  asked  him  to  forgive 
her  for  talking  as  she  had  done;  and  he  was  much 
astonished. 


302  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"  Lord  bless  you,  my  dear  woman,"  he  said.  "  Don't 
take  it  like  that,  or  I  shall  think  less  of  you.  You  were 
quite  right.  Queens  drop  the  handkerchief,"  he  said; 
"  and  you're  a  queen  in  my  opinion,  so  why  for  shouldn't 


you 


?  » 


That  comforted  her  no  doubt  and  she  cheered  up  a 
bit  in  secret,  for  she'd  got  terrible  wisht  after  her 
failure,  and  the  people  marked  it.  What's  more,  they 
guessed  at  the  truth,  though  in  justice  to  the  man,  that 
wasn't  Billy  Blane's  fault,  for  he  kept  her  secret  very 
honest  and  he  didn't  love  her  less  for  knowing  it  and 
still  had  a  bit  of  hope. 

Then  Billy  went  for  Christopher  Tonkin  —  not  sav- 
age and  open  of  course,  for  he  had  no  quarrel  with  any 
man  he  could  put  a  name  to ;  but  crafty  like.  He 
wanted  to  show  Mercj^  that  Christopher  weren't  the  only 
man  of  character  and  renown  in  St.  Tid,  and  he  reck- 
oned he  was  quite  as  popular  and  clever  and  famed  for 
sense  as  Tonkin  was,  or  any  other  man  round  about ; 
and  so,  when  the  next  election  for  the  Parish  Council 
came  on,  which  it  did  do  six  months  afterwards,  Billy 
Blane  decided  in  secret  to  stand  and  offer  himself  for 
the  post. 

Christopher  heard  about  it  as  a  rumour,  but  he  didn't 
give  a  second  thought  to  the  matter,  because  Billy  was 
a  reactionary  in  politics,  and  St.  Tid  was  thought  to  be 
progressive.  He'd  romped  in  hands  down  before  and 
reckoned  his  election  again  was  a  certainty  and  all  over 
bar  shouting.  He  only  laughed  when  he  heard  tell  that 
Blane  was  up  against  him,  and  he  didn't  take  no  trouble 


PANTING  AFTER  CHRISTOPHER       303 

to  do  anything,  being  quite  content  to  know  himself  a 
sure  winner. 

It  wanted  but  a  fortnight  to  the  election  and  Chris- 
topher was  deep  one  night  in  the  quarry  accounts,  when 
much  to  his  surprise  Mercy  Parsons  dropped  in.  He 
was  rather  vexed  about  it,  because  he  was  terrible  busy 
and  feared  she  took  liis  poetical  talk  about  the  queen 
dropping  a  pocket  handkerchief  too  serious.  In  fact 
he  guessed  she'd  come  to  do  the  same  again. 

"  I'm  properly  busy,"  he  said,  handing  a  chair  to 
her,  "  but  I  daresay  you  ain't  going  to  keep  me  very 
long." 

"  No,  I  ain't,"  she  said ;  "  only  you  may  like  to  know 
that  others  are  properly  busy  beside  you.  I  daresay 
you've  forgot  all  about  the  election?  " 

"  Very  near,"  he  told  her.  "  'Tis  a  matter  of  form 
and  no  more." 

"  I  can't  work  for  3'ou,  because  you  Avouldn't  let  me," 
she  answered.  "  But  I've  got  ears  and  eyes,  and  I've 
been  using  them  both  of  late.  It's  like  this,  and  you 
ought  to  heai'  it.  There's  a  lot  of  people  going  to  vote 
for  Mr.  Blane  —  a  lot  more  than  you've  got  any  idea 
of.  He's  been  talking  against  the  progressives,  and 
giving  figures,  and  explaining  from  his  point  of  view; 
and  I  went  to  one  of  his  meetings,  and  I  can  tell  you 
that  the  people  are  lot  taken  by  him.  And  the  Church 
parson  be  working  hard  for  him  too.  But  where  are 
you?  And  of  a  night,  when  he  isn't  airing  his  opinions 
in  public,  Mr.  Blane's  going  round  with  a  lantern  and 
a  piece  of  paper  making  a  house  to  house  visitation. 


304  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

And  he's  promising  everything  and  making  a  lot  of 
ignorant  people  believe  that  'twill  be  proper  ruination 
to  St.  Tid  if  they  don't  put  him  in.  I've  marked  him  a 
lot  of  nights  and  heard  the  people  talk  about  him;  and 
the  long  and  short  is  if  you  don't  stir  yourself  while 
there's  time,  he'll  out  you,  Christopher." 

The  man  stared  with  amazement,  and  she  took  a 
breath  and  ran  on. 

"  I've  done  what  I  can,  and  steadied  down  a  good  few 
doubtful  ones ;  but  it  ain't  my  Avork.  Why,  this  very 
night  he's  out  up  over  in  Wesley  Terrace,  and  welcome 
everywhere  as  the  flowers  in  May.  You  can  go  and  see 
for  yourself  if  j^ou  like." 

Well,  Tonkin  pulled  himself  together,  left  his  papers 
and  got  on  his  legs. 

"  I  will,"  he  said.  He  was  too  much  excited  to  thank 
her  or  look  at  her.  Before  she  knew  it  he  was  gone ; 
and  -then  she  went  home  and  wondered  what  he'd  do 
next. 

She  soon  found  out,  for  in  twenty-four  hours  there 
was  an  advertisement  in  all  the  shop  windows  saying 
that  Mr.  Christopher  Tonkin,  the  people's  friend,  was 
going  to  hold  a  meeting  in  the  big  schoolroom  on  the 
subject  of  the  election,  and  he  was  very  wishful  to  put 
his  vieAvs  and  what  he'd  done  and  what  he  meant  to  do 
before  the  honoured  voters. 

And  the  man  held  his  meeting  and  started  round  of 
nights  with  a  lantern  and  a  piece  of  paper;  and  he 
worked  during  the  fortnight  afore  the  election  like  a 
team  of  bosses.  Everywhere  he  found  what  a  strong 
thing  it  is  to  get  in  first  with  a  crowd  of  empty-minded 


PANTING  AFTER  CHRISTOPHER       305 

folk  —  ready  most  times  as  shepp  for  the  slaughter  — 
and  everywhere  he  found  what  a  po^*erful  lot  of  voters 
had  inclined  to  Blane  and  his  politics  and  promises.  In 
fact,  when  the  election  day  arrived,  Christopher  Tonkin 
for  the  first  time  in  his  life  was  very  doubtful  of  success. 
He  found  himself  in  a  new  frame  of  mind  and  couldn't 
let  down  his  breakfast  —  a  thing  which  mortally 
troubled  him,  for  he  doubted  not  that  he  must  be 
parlous  bad.  'Twas  touch  and  go  without  a  doubt,  and 
to  the  last  the  issue  hung  in  the  balance.  But  he  won. 
Only  fourteen  votes  more  than  Billy  Blane  did  Chris- 
topher receive,  however,  and  he  got  the  shock  of  his 
life,  as  he  afterwards  confessed.  When  the  numbers 
were  out  and  he  said  a  few  words  and  won  a  cheer  from 
his  supporters,  he  bethought  of  Mercy,  and  being  a  very 
fair-minded  man,  couldn't  help  seeing  that  she'd  won  the 
election  for  him. 

His  mind  went  up  and  down  about  it  a  good  bit; 
but  at  last  it  began  slowly  to  settle  itself  in  her  favour. 
He  didn't  hurry,  and  to  the  end  I  believe  he  was  a 
thought  regretful  to  take  the  plunge ;  but  looking  all 
round  it  and  seeing  the  sort  of  girl  she'd  shown  herself, 
he  couldn't  help  feeling  there  was  a  lot  in  her  favour  and 
mighty  little  against.  So  he  went  over  to  her  one 
evening,  after  waiting  a  week  to  see  if  she'd  come  to  him, 
which  she  didn't. 

They  had  a  pleasant  talk  about  it,  and  for  the  first 
time  in  his  life  Master  Christopher  found  what  it  was 
like  to  have  a  woman  in  his  arms  and  her  lips  on  his 
mouth. 


A  TOUCH  OF  "  FEARFULNESS  " 

A  QUIET,  easy  chap  was  Amos  Barton  —  a  man  very 
well  content  to  live  and  let  live.  In  fact  the  last  on 
earth  that  would  have  left  his  uncle's  farm  and  gone 
for  a  soldier  at  any  other  time  than  this. 

But  left  an  orphan,  he  had  been  brought  up  by  a 
very  clever  aunt  —  one  of  the  old  sort  with  a  streak  of 
toughness  in  her  —  and  seeing  her  nephew's  fault  was 
like  to  be  that  he'd  sacrifice  most  anything  for  the  sake 
of  peace,  she'd  worked  at  his  character  in  that  matter 
and  taught  him  that  there  were  times  when  peace  and 
self-respect  couldn't  drive  in  double  harness.  So  it 
came  about  that  when  war  broke  upon  us,  Amos  Barton 
found  his  aunt's  teaching  hold  to  him,  and  he  didn't 
wait  to  be  called,  but  offered.  Indeed  he  was  one  of  the 
first  in  all  St.  Tid  parish  to  throw  up  the  land  and  go  in 
the  army. 

Of  course  in  those  dark  days  of  the  year  1914  — 
which  seem  as  far  away  as  Noah's  Flood  now  —  we  none 
of  us  knew  the  height  and  depth  of  what  the  nation  was 
in  for;  and  there  was  a  lot  of  fun  and  chaff  to  the 
recruiting,  and  many  thought  by  the  time  the  boys  were 
drilled  and  knew  their  job  the  war  would  be  over. 

So  there  was  plenty  of  laughter  when  we  heard  gentle 
Amos  was  going  to  the  war  —  a  chap,  mind  you,  that 
even  shirked  sport,  for  his  uncle,  when  speaking  to  a 
few  of  us  at  "  The  Green  Man  "  one  evening,  declared 

306 


A  TOUCH  OF  "  FEARFULNESS  "         307 

he  could  never  get  his  nephew  to  touch  a  gun,  or  kill 
anything  bigger  than  a  wasp. 

'*  But  his  sense  of  dut}'  has  called  him  to  the  wars," 
said  Matthew  Barton,  "  and  though  'tis  vain  to  think 
Amos  can  ever  shine  as  a  soldier,  3'et  we  may  be  sure 
he'll  do  his  duty  to  the  best  of  his  limited  powers." 

Amos  was  Matthew's  heir,  you  must  know,  if  he  didn't 
forfeit  his  hopes  in  the  future. 

"  Why  didn't  he  go  in  the  Ambulance  Corps?  "  asked 
Tom  Chick,  whose  own  son  had  also  enlisted. 

"  He  was  told  that  what  the  nation  wanted  was 
fighting  foot-soldiers,"  explained  Matthew,  "  so  a  foot- 
soldier  he'll  be;  though  seeing  how  skilled  he  is  along 
with  horses  and  what  a  clever  touch  he  has  to  tame  'em, 
I  think  he'd  be  doing  more  good  in  the  cavalr}^  myself. 
That  gentle  chap  have  a  will  of  iron  with  horses.  I've 
never  known  one  beat  him." 

But  Amos  wasn't  a  hero  in  one  pair  of  eyes  by  any 
means,  and  it  came  out  presently  that  his  sweetheart, 
Lucy  Vale,  felt  a  good  bit  put  about  when  he  joined  up. 
She  didn't  wish  it,  and  she  reckoned  Amos  ought  to 
have  considered  her  feeling  first.  For  people  began  to 
say  that  quite  enough  young  men  had  volunteered  for 
the  new  armies,  and  so  Lucy,  who  knew  Amos  was  a 
peaceful,  soft-hearted  chap  by  nature,  reckoned  he'd 
never  shine  at  the  front,  or  be  a  credit  to  her,  or  any- 
body. So  she  felt  he'd  better  far  keep  out  of  harm's 
way  and  continue  to  be  his  uncle's  horseman  and  leave 
war  to  such  as  had  a  better  stomach  for  it. 

"  Good  powers !  "  she  said  to  Amos.  "  What  should 
a  man  like  you  do  in  battle.''     Your  one  thought  would 


308  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

be  to  hurt  nobody,  and  you'd  stop  to  say  you  were  sorry 
if  you  trod  on  anybody's  toes,  let  alone  run  a  bayonet 
into  them.  You'll  only  disgrace  yourself  if  you  go, 
and  if  you  hear  a  shot  fired  in  anger,  such  a  tender 
creature  as  you  will  lose  your  nerve  altogether  and 
very  likely  run  away,  or  do  something  dangerous." 

"  I'm  sorrj-^  you  feel  like  that,  Loo,"  said  Amos  to 
her;  "  and  I  hope  you're  mistaken.  I  hate  the  thoughts 
of  war  and  I  ain't  ashamed  to  say  it ;  but  I  don't  think 
I  should  be  frightened;  because  if  a  man's  doing  his 
duty,  there's  no  room  for  him  to  be  frightened  that  I 
can  see." 

She  kept  at  him,  however,  and  made  it  a  bit  painful 
for  Amos ;  but  she  didn't  change  his  mind  and,  once  in 
khaki,  of  course  she  could  do  nothing.  The  change 
dated  from  then,  however,  and  there's  no  doubt  Lucy 
Vale  never  felt  quite  the  same  to  Amos  after  he  joined 
the  colours.  She  was  a  very  fine  figure  of  a  girl  with 
red  hair  and  a  complexion  like  a  wild  rose ;  but  she  had 
no  large  ideas  and  couldn't  look  much  farther  ahead 
than  her  own  interests.  For  that  matter  that's  the 
limit  of  more  eyes  than  Lucy's. 

So  when  she'd  made  a  rare  good  match  for  a  poor 
widow's  daughter  and  won  Amos  Barton,  she  little 
liked  to  think  she  might  lose  him  again,  and  didn't  give 
the  man  any  credit  for  the  sacrifice,  but  blamed  him  for 
it  instead.  And  perhaps  what  troubled  her  as  much 
as  anything  was  that  Amos  withstood  her;  for  he'd 
never  denied  her  before,  and  she  was  already  thinking 
in  her  heart  that  the  grey  mare  would  be  the  better 
horse  when  they  came  to  wed. 


A  TOUCH  OF  'TEARFULNESS"        309 

However  she  hid  her  mind,  and  I  daresay  it  would 
have  been  all  right,  as  more  and  more  joined  up.  In- 
deed before  long  Lucy  might  have  been  the  first  to 
grumble  if  she'd  been  called  to  go  out  walking  with  a 
civilian.  But  there  was  another  in  it,  and  when  young 
Jacob  Warner,  the  gamekeeper,  found  that  Lucy  was  a 
bit  under  the  weather  about  Amos,  he  took  very  good 
care  for  his  own  ends  to  harp  on  it  and  make  out  a 
black  case  against  the  girl's  betrothed. 

He  was  a  big,  fine  fellow,  to  the  eye,  but  he  hadn't 
no  use  whatever  for  the  war  and  he  let  his  master  apply 
for  him,  and  the  Tribunal  gave  him  six  months,  not  for 
his  own  sake,  but  for  Squire  Trecarrow's.  And  when 
Amos  was  fairly  off  to  France,  Master  Jacob  began  his 
games  with  Lucy  and  tried  his  very  best  to  get  her 
away  from  the  absent  man. 

What  went  on  between  them  nobody  ever  knew;  but 
a  gamekeeper's  a  chap  that  can  amuse  himself  out  of 
sight  of  other  people  by  reason  of  his  calling,  and  there's 
no  doubt  Lucy  often  met  Jacob  by  appointment  and 
listened   to   his    nonsense. 

She  was  weak  but  not  wicked,  and  she  didn't  think 
she  was  doing  wrong  to  listen  to  Jacob's  love-making, 
more  especially  as  she  didn't  feel  none  too  forgiving  to 
Amos  for  joining  up;  but  we  couldn't  believe  that  she 
meant  more  than  to  amuse  herself,  and  so  Tom  Chick, 
who  was  a  friend  of  Amos  Barton,  decided  he'd  speak 
to   Lucy. 

He  was  a  middle-aged  man  and  had  got  a  good  few 
daughters  of  his  own,  so  he  felt  he  could  say  the  word 
in  season. 


310  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

But  he  found  Lucy  Vale  in  rather  a  haughty  spirit. 
To  be  plain,  she  told  him  to  mind  his  own  business. 
And  then  came  the  amazing  thing,  for  suddenly  two 
matters  fell  out  simultaneously  and  we  heard  that  Lucy 
had  thrown  over  Amos  and  was  tokened  to  the  game- 
keeper, and  next  we  heard  that  Amos  himself,  who 
had  now  been  in  the  trenches  for  six  months,  was 
getting  a  bit  of  leave  and  returning  home  to  his  uncle 
and  aunt. 

Leave  comes  along  by  chance  when  it  can,  you  see, 
and  a  man  don't  know  much  beforehand  when  he  is 
to  get  back;  so  it  fell  out  that  Lucy's  letter  to  Amos, 
telling  him  she'd  changed  her  mind,  never  reached  him, 
and  the  first  he  heard  about  the  adventure  was  at  the 
railway  station,  where  Tom  Chick  went  to  meet  him. 

He  found  Amos  changed  and  yet  the  same.  He  was 
thinner,  but  a  mighty  lot  harder;  his  gentle  eyes  had 
taken  a  different  expression,  and  there'd  come  a  sharp 
line  between  'em.  His  voice  was  different  too,  and 
him  that  had  gone  to  the  wars  a  kindly  boy  came  back 
a  man  and  one  that  knew  his  own  mind,  be  sure.  He 
had  come  through  without  a  scratch  and  seen  some 
properly  awful  service.  He'd  killed  men  with  his  own 
weapons,  and  hoped  to  kill  more  and  weren't  ashamed  to 
say  so.  His  outlook  on  life  was  altered  by  the  horrors 
that  life  had  showed  him,  and  he  told  Tom  that  he'd 
never  known  the  meaning  of  reality  before  he  went  to 
France. 

That  gave  Tom  his  chance. 

"  There's  a  bit  of  reality  waiting  here  for  you  all  the 


A  TOUCH  OF  "  FEARFULNESS  "         311 

same,"  he  said,  "  and  I'm  very  sorry  to  say  it's  in  the 
shape  of  some  jjroper  bad  news." 

"  Not  aunt  or  uncle?  "  asked  Amos. 

"  No,  they're  all  right." 

"  Lucy,  then?     She  ought  to  be  here  to  meet  me." 

Then  Tom  told  him  that  Lucy  had  gone  over  to 
Jacob  Warner,  that  the  tiling  had  been  done  not  a 
fortnight  before,  and  that  there  was  a  letter  waiting  in 
France  that  minute  with  the  fatal  news.  Knowing  the 
gentle  nature  of  Amos,  Chick  feared  he'd  be  properly 
torn  to  pieces  by  this  fearful  mishap ;  but  the  outward 
change  had  crept  to  the  inner  man  also  as  it  seemed. 
Anyway  Amos  didn't  take  on  much  to  the  eye.  When 
he  heard  who  the  other  man  was  he  just  gave  a  short 
laugh  and  bade  Tom  Chick  come  along  with  him  to 
"  The  Green  Man  "  and  have  a  drink.  He'd  got  a  very 
fine  German  helmet  as  a  trophy  and  in  ten  minutes  he 
was  showing  it  to  a  dozen  men  in  the  bar  of  the  inn 
and  getting  a  lot  of  congratulations  from  his  old 
acquaintance. 

They  found  the  change  in  him,  too,  for  the  work  his 
hand  had  been  called  to  perfoi-m  was  reflected  not  only 
in  his  voice  and  his  eyes,  but  in  his  manner  of  looking 
at  things  and  in  his  opinions.  He  didn't  show  off  or 
talk  big,  for  nothing  could  have  made  him  do  that, 
but  'twas  plain  to  the  least  observing  that  life  had 
lifted  Amos  into  a  pretty  keen  blade.  He  didn't  contra- 
dict nor  argue  about  the  war,  but  he  just  told  'em;  and 
he  made  it  exceeding  clear  that  the  old  world  and  the 
old  interests  and  amusements  —  the  farm  work  and  the 


312  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

quarry  work  and  the  chapel  teas  and  so  on  —  had  all 
took  another  place  in  his  mind  from  what  they  did  before 
the  war.  He  didn't  scorn  nothing  or  laugh  at  anybody ; 
yet  there  was  the  far-reaching  change  in  him,  and  the 
home-staying  people  who  saw  and  heard,  felt  it  and  knew 
that  Amos  had  got  to  be  a  leader  of  men  and  one  whose 
word  did  ought  to  be  respected  and  obeyed.  For  that 
matter  he  had  risen  from  private  to  sergeant  in  six 
months  and  the  stripes  was  on  his  arm. 

Nobody  touched  on  the  man's  great  misfortune, 
though  it  was  common  knowledge  b}^  now;  and  then  by 
chance  who  should  saunter  into  the  bar,  with  his  gun 
under  his  arm,  but  Jacob  Warner,  the  keeper!  And 
the  people  fairly  held  their  breath,  for  Tom  had  already 
whispered  them  that  the  murder  was  out  and  Amos  knew 
what  had  happened. 

And  then  they  saw  a  very  remarkable  scene. 

"  Hullo,  Jacob,  how's  yourself?  "  asked  Amos. 

"  I'm  all  right,"  answered  the  other,  but  he  showed 
an  inclination  to  be  off  and  away  that  instant  moment. 

"  Shake  hands  and  don't  you  go.  I  want  to  speak 
to  you,"  said  Amos,  and  the  other  put  a  bold  face  on  it 
and  shook  hands  and  set  down  his  gun. 

"  Still  shooting  rabbits  instead  of  Germans,  I  see," 
remarked   Amos. 

"  The  world's  work  can't  stand  still  for  the  war," 
answered  Jacob,  lofty  like. 

"  '  The  world's  work  ' !  Are  you  a  rabbit  yourself? 
What  is  the  world's  work  but  the  war?  You're  so  bad 
as  the  neutrals,  who  sit  stiU  and  whimper  and  see  their 


A  TOUCH  OF  "  FEARFULNESS  "         313 

ships  sent  to  the  bottom  of  the  sea  and  bleat  for  peace, 
instead  of  giving  the  Alhes  a  helping  hand  to  win  it. 
'  The  world's  work ! '  Much  you  know  of  the  world's 
work,  you  hulking  great  zany." 

Jacob  stood  three  inches  taller  than  Amos  and  was  a 
broader,  bigger,  heavier  man ;  but  he  looked  a  loose- 
built,  shambling  sort  of  figure  against  the  soldier,  and 
his  voice  hadn't  the  same  clean  ring  in  it,  and  his  words 
didn't  carry  weight  like  the  smaller  man's,  which  was 
natural,  because,  of  course,  Jacob  stood  in  the  wrong 
and  Amos  had  right  behind  him. 

"  What's  the  matter  with  you.^  "  asked  the  keeper. 

"  I'll  tell  you,"  answered  Amos.  "  The  matter  with 
me  is  that  I've  just  heard  my  girl,  in  a  passing  fit  of 
weak-mindedness,  have  thought  that  you  was  better  like 
to  suit  her  as  a  husband  than  what  I  shall.  And  that 
means  that  you've  been  messing  about  after  her  when 
you  ought  to  have  been  doing  your  master's  work.  So 
you  can't  even  be  trusted  to  shoot  rabbits  seemingly. 
And  now  you're  up  against  it,  and  I've  got  to  knock 
this  tomfoolery  out  of  your  head  and  out  of  hers  afore 
I  go  to  sleep  tonight.     And  I'm  going  to  do  it." 

"How.?  "  asked  Jacob.  But  he'd  got  his  tail  down 
already,  and  he  knew  by  the  other  man's  voice  and 
straight  eye  that  he  was  in  for  a  bad  time. 

"  I'll  show  you  how.  When  you're  a  soldier,  you 
learn  to  make  up  your  mind  double  quick,  for  your  life 
often  hangs  on  it.  And  my  life  hangs  on  Lucy  Vale 
for  that  matter,  as  the  baggage  very  well  knows.  So 
now  you  drink  your  beer  and  come  along  with  me." 


3U  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

"And  if  I  don't?" 

"  There's  no  don't  about  it.  I've  had  to  handle  your 
sort  a  dozen  times  under  enemy's  fire,  Jacob  Warner, 
and  if  I  could  do  it  there,  I  can  do  it  here.  You're 
dust  to  me  —  dust  I  tell  you  —  in  will  and  strength 
and  everything.  I'm  ashamed  to  waste  words  on  an 
over-grown,  good-for-nothing  lout  like  you.  You've 
got  to  march  along  with  me  to  Widow  Vale's  house  and 
tell  Lucy  you've  been  a  wicked  young  fool.  And  you 
can  take  off  that  cap  and  put  on  this  German  helmet. 
It  came  off  the  head  of  a  braver  man  than  you,  so  you 
needn't  be  ashamed  of  it." 

Jacob  threw  his  eyes  around  to  find  a  friend;  but 
of  the  dozen  odd  men  in  the  bar  at  that  minute,  not 
one  was  his  side.  He  blustered  and  cursed  a  good  bit; 
but  Amos  was  hard  as  a  rock  and,  as  Tom  Chick  said 
after,  you  felt  he'd  got  a  bit  of  the  tiger-tamer  in 
him  at  that  moment  and  was  good  to  handle  man  or 
beast.  There  weren't  much  of  the  tiger  in  Jacob 
Warner,  whether  or  no,  and  before  you  could  rub  your 
eyes  the  battle  of  wills  was  over,  and  there  stood  the 
keeper  with  a  dead  German's  helmet  on  his  head. 

"  Shoulder  arms !  "  said  Amos,  and  Jacob  had  to  put 
his  gun  over  his  shoulder,  though  he'd  liked  to  have 
emptied  both  barrels  into  his  enemy  if  he'd  dared. 

But  he  was  a  lost  man  afore  the  other,  and  there 
came  a  proper  terrified  look  in  his  face  as  he  went  out 
and  down  the  street.  He  pretended  afterwards  he 
thought  Amos  was  mad.  Barton  let  up  a  little  then, 
and  as  we  crowded  to  the  door  to  see  'em  go,  we  marked 
that  he  didn't  drive  the  keeper  in  front  of  him,  as  if 


A  TOUCH  OF  "  FEARFULNESS  "         315 

he'd  took  a  prisoner,  but  just  walked  in  a  friendly  way 
by  his  side  and  talked  as  if  there  weren't  a  shadow 
between  them.  Leastways  he  did  the  talking,  for  Jacob 
was  dumb. 

Then  they  went  to  Widow  Vale's  cottage  and  it  was 
Lucy's   turn. 

She  came  out  to  the  door  when  Amos  knocked,  and 
before  she  knew  it,  was  in  his  arms  with  a  kiss  on  each 
cheek.     Then  he  spoke  afore  she'd  time  to  faint. 

"  Here  I  am,  you  see,  never  better,  and  in  the  pink, 
my  dear.  And  I'm  sorry  to  find  that  you  and  Jacob 
here  have  been  playing  at  some  sort  of  naughty  pretence 
behind  my  back,  like  a  couple  of  silly  children.  But  I 
forgive  you,  because  it's  all  make-believe  here  at  home, 
and  your  letters  are  just  as  bad  as  you.  But  I've  woke 
Jacob  up,  and  he's  come  to  say  he's  sorry  for  his  sins ; 
and  I'll  hope  you'll  forgive  him  as  you'd  wish  to  be 
forgiven  yourself  by  me  for  such  bad  conduct.  Now 
speak,  Jacob,  and  then  you  can  sling  your  hook." 

He  talked  as  calmly  as  ever ;  but  the  pair  knew  there 
was  a  force  behind  far  beyond  their  power  to  cope 
with. 

And  Jacob  cut  a  poor  show  before  Lucy.  He 
couldn't  bluff  and  he  couldn't  talk  big  with  a  dead 
German's  helmet  on  his  head  and  a  dozen  school  chil- 
dren peeping  over  the  garden  wall,  so  he  did  the  wisest 
thing  and  threw  up  the  sponge  and  felt  least  said, 
soonest  mended. 

"  You  hear  Amos,"  said  Jacob,  "  and  that's  all  there 
is  to  it,  Lucy.  He's  come  home  like  a  regiment  of 
soldiers  all  in  one  man,  and  he  will  be  obeyed  and  he 


316  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

don't  regard  your  engagement  to  me  as  binding 
and " 

Luc}'  looked  at  him  and  then  at  Amos,  standing  there 
like  the  figure  of  Doom,  and  she  saw  the  new  power 
that  had  cast  Jacob  in  the  dust.  For  a  moment  she 
thought  of  putting  her  will  against  his,  and  perhaps  if 
Jacob  had  put  up  a  fight  she'd  have  helped  him ;  but 
seeing  him  down  and  out,  as  you  may  sa^^,  and  the  other 
so  calm  and  resolute,  she  felt  in  a  flash  what  a  cruel 
mistake  she'd  made. 

Then  Amos  took  his  helmet  off  Jacob's  head  and  bade 
him  be  gone;  but  all  quite  pleasant  without  a  spark 
of  anger;  and  when  the  gamekeeper  had  disappeared, 
the  steadfast  soldier  went  into  Luc\'  Vale's  house.  Her 
mother  was  out  and  they  had  it  to  themselves,  and  then 
she  got  a  taste  of  the  new  Amos  Barton.  He  listened 
to  her  shame-faced  talk,  like  a  father  listens  to  a  child 
caught  out  in  a  naughty  deed,  and  he  pardoned  her,  and 
then  he  said  his  say. 

"  I  forgive  you  very  willing,  Luc}',  but  a  thing  like 
this  have  got  to  leave  its  mark,  and  'tis  no  good  your 
crying  out,  because  I  shouldn't  hear  you  if  you  did. 
My  ears  don't  take  no  account  of  much  less  than  a 
'  Jack  Johnson  '  nowadays.  Jacob  couldn't  have  been 
wicked  if  you  hadn't  helped  him ;  and  now  you're  going 
to  catch  it  too." 

She  doted  on  his  firmness  and  felt  like  kneeling  down 
and  kissing  his  boots  b}^  that  time.  But  with  all  the 
will  to  pleasure  him  and  the  thankfulness  to  be  forgiven, 
she  was  more  than  a  bit  shaken  up  when  she  heard  what 
he  said  next. 


I 


A  TOUCH  OF  "  FEARFULNESS  "         317 

"  On  Sunday  next  we'll  go  to  chapel  as  usual,  my 
dear,  and  sit  side  by  side  and  sing  out  of  the  same  book. 
And  you'll  wear  this  here  helmet  instead  of  3'our  go-to- 
meeting  hat,  'Tis  an  officer's  helmet  and  will  look  very 
fine  on  your  brave  red  hair.  And  that's  not  all  neither. 
I've  got  a  fortnight  before  I  return  to  France.  And 
during  that  fortnight  two  things  will  happen  to  me. 
I  shall  receive  the  Distinguished  Conduct  Medal,  known 
as  the  D.C.M.  for  shortness,  and  I  shall  marry  Lucy 
Vale.  That's  where  we  stand.  And  now  you  can  give 
me  a  kiss  and  sit  on  my  knee  for  a  bit  and  tell  me  you 
feci  thankful  to  God  that  you're  going  to  marry  a  man 
after  all." 

He  stopped  with  her  for  half  an  hour,  and  such  was 
the  potent  force  of  him,  and  the  look  in  his  eyes,  and 
the  way  he  held  her  to  him  and  rubbed  his  lean  cheek 
against  her  round  one,  that  Lucy  never  even  argued 
about  it.  She'd  not  seen  or  felt  such  a  driving  power 
in  her  life,  of  course. 

He  went  off  to  his  relations  presently  and  never  even 
reminded  Lucy  about  the  helmet.  But  he  let  her  choose 
the  wedding  da}^  and  when  he  came  to  fetch  her  to 
worship  the  next  Sunday  she  was  wearing  the  helmet 
all  right.  But  she'd  softened  it  down  with  a  bit  of 
flimsy  and  he  made  no  objection  to  that.  In  fact  he 
never  mentioned  the  subject  again  either  then  or  ever 
after. 

They  were  married  so  soon  as  possible,  and  then 
went  to  London  for  a  few  days,  on  one  of  which  Amos 
visited  Buckingham  Palace  and  got  his  medal  from  His 
Majesty's  own  hand. 


318  CHRONICLES  OF  ST.  TID 

'Twas  a  nine  days'  wonder  you  may  say,  and,  before 
he  returned  to  fight,  Tom  Chick  asked  Amos  how  it 
came  about  that  such  an  easy  chap  could  take  such  a 
high  hand  and  sweep  others  before  him  like  the  wind 
sweeps  the  leaves;  and  he  said,  as  calm  and  gentle  as 
ever,  how  it  was. 

"  'Tis  like  this.  Chick,"  he  answered.  "  Out  there, 
you  must  know,  everything's  so  terrible  real  that  it 
makes  everyday  life  at  St.  Tid  a  dream  by  comparison. 
Out  there  all  the  senses  play  such  a  part  as  never  before 
were  they  called  to  play.  They're  lifted  up  and 
increased,  and  you  feel  that  you've  only  been  half  alive 
before.  You  hear  and  you  see  and  you  smell  and  you 
touch,  and  by  God!  you  taste  too,  in  a  way  you  can't 
imagine  if  you  haven't  been  there.  Your  feet  turn  into 
ice  under  you;  your  blood  runs  out  of  your  ears  and 
nose  for  nothing  but  the  noise.  Everything's  in  deadly 
extremes,  Tom  Chick;  and  after  you've  had  a  spell  of 
it,  you  find  you  take  a  new  view  of  life  in  general. 
And  coming  back  from  the  front  to  all  you  peaceful 
people,  and  such  mice  as  Jacob  Warner,  I  feel  that  — 
no  disrespect  to  you,  Chick  —  you're  all  tame  cats,  or 
grown-up  children,  just  fiddling  on  with  your  silly  little 
lives  and  thinking  your  silly  little  thoughts  and  doing 
your  silly  little  actions.  And  I  was  the  same;  but  I 
shall  never  sink  down  into  the  same  again  if  I'm  spared 
to  come  through  the  fighting.  And  for  the  minute, 
being  strung  up  as  you  may  say  to  see  things  with  the 
eyes  of  the  Great  War,  'twas  nothing  to  me  to  handle 
Jacob  as  I  did,  and  Lucy  as  I  did.  I've  give  'em  both 
a  pinch  of  reality.     And  what's  the  result,  my  dear.? 


A  TOUCH  OF  " FEARFULNESS "         319 

Why,  that  stupid  gamekeeper  if  off  to  the  wars  himself, 
and  a  very  fine  soldier  he'll  make  no  doubt ;  while  as 
for  my  precious  girl,  she  understands  a  bit  of  the  truth 
of  me  as  she  never  did  before;  and  when  she  married 
me,  I  got  a  wife  in  a  thousand  without  a  doubt,  and 
she  got  a  man  as  is  a  man  I  hope." 

And  if  he's  spared  to  the  finish  and  takes  up  his 
Uncle  Matthew's  farm  when  the  time  comes,  Amos 
Barton  will  be  a  power  of  good  among  us ;  for  though 
the  war's  brought  out  his  manhood,  it  haven't  altered 
his  nature,  and  he'll  always  be  gentle  to  the  weak  and 
kind  to  the  humble,  and  thoughtful  for  his  fellow  man 
and  woman.      Because  he's  built  so. 


THE    END 


rKINTKD     IN     TUB     UNITED     STATES     OF     AMBRTDH 


""HE  following  pages  contain  advertisements  of  a 
few  of  the  Macmillan  novels. 


I 


The  Banks  of  Colne 


By  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 
Author  of  "  Green  Alleys,"  "  Old  Delabole,"  etc 

12°,  $1.50 

The  plot  and  characters  of  Mr.  Phillpotts'  new 
novel,  "The  Banks  of  Colne"  are  drawn  from  two  in- 
tensely interesting  industries  of  the  Devonshire  coun- 
try— a  great  flower  nursery  and  landscape  gardening 
concern,  and  the  oyster  fisheries  on  the  coast. 

The  story  develops  in  a  leisurely  way  with  the  re- 
markable descriptions  of  nature  which  have  character- 
ized all  of  Mr.  Phillpotts'  writings.  The  people  are 
real.  They  have  grown  up  out  of  the  soil  on  which 
they  play  out  their  little  drama,  and  the  natural  set- 
tings seem  to  envelop  and  color  their  souls.  This 
quality  is  partly  a  result  of  Mr.  Phillpotts'  way  of 
working.  He  goes  to  the  locality  which  is  to  be  the 
scene  of  his  story,  and  there  he  lives  among  the  people, 
getting  to  know  them  intimately  and  discovering  the 
fundamental  relations  between  the  people  and  back- 
ground. 

"As  long  as  we  have  such  novelists  as  Mr.  Phill- 
potts we  need  have  no  fears  for  the  future  of  Eng- 
lish fiction." — Boston  Transcript. 


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The  Human  Boy  and  the  War 

By  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 

Cloth,  i2mo,  jf/.J5 

In  this  book  of  stories  Mr.  Phillpotts  uses  his  genial  gift 
of  characterization  to  picture  the  effect  of  the  European  War 
on  the  impressionable  minds  of  boys  —  English  school-boys 
far  away  from  anything  but  the  mysterious  echo  of  the  strange 
terrors  and  blood-stirring  heroisms  of  battle,  who  live  close 
only  to  the  martial  invitation  of  a  recruiting  station.  There 
are  stories  of  a  boy  who  runs  away  to  go  to  the  front,  teachers 
who  go  —  perhaps  without  running;  the  school's  contest  for  a 
prize  poem  about  the  war,  and  snow  battles,  fiercely  belligerent, 
mimicking  the  strategies  of  Flanders  and  the  Champagne. 
They  are  deeply  moving  sketches  revealing  the  heart  and 
mind  of  English  youth  in  war-time. 

"The  book  is  extraordinary  in  the  skill  with  which  it  gets 
into  that  world  of  the  boy  so  shut  away  from  the  adult  world. 
It  is  entirely  unlike  anything  else  by  Phillpotts,  equal  as  it  is 
to  his  other  volumes  in  charm,  character  study,  humor  and  in- 
terest. It  is  one  of  those  books  that  every  reader  will  want  to 
recommend  to  his  friends,  and  which  he  will  only  lend  with 
the  express  proviso  that  it  must  be  returned." — New  York 
Times. 

"In  this  book  Mr.  Phillpotts  pictures  a  boy,  a  real  human 
boy.  The  boy's  way  of  thinking,  his  outlook  upon  life,  his 
ambitions,  his  ideals,  his  moods,  his  peculiarities,  these  are 
all  here  touched  with  a  kindly  sympathy  and  humor."— AT^w 
York  Sun. 

"  Mr.  Phillpotts  writes  from  a  real  knowledge  of  the  school- 
boy's habit  of  thought.  He  writes  with  much  humor  and  the 
result  is  as  delightful  and  entertaining  a  volume  as  has  come 
from  his  pen  for  some  time." —  Buffalo  Evening  News. 

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i 


The  Green  Alleys 

EDEN  PHILLPOTTS'  NEW  NOVEL 

"  As  long  as  we  have  such  novels  as  T/ig  Green  Alleys  and 
such  novelists  as  Mr.  Phillpotts,  we  need  have  no  fears  for  the 
future  of  English  fiction.  Mr.  Phillpotts'  latest  novel  is  a  repre- 
sentative example  of  him  at  his  best,  of  his  skill  as  a  literary- 
creator  and  of  his  ability  as  an  interpreter  of  life."  —  Boston 
Transcript. 

"  The  Green  Alleys  is  the  best  of  all,  as  good  a  story  as  Mr. 
phillpotts  has  written."  —  New  York  Globe. 

"  A  drama  of  fascinating  interest,  lightened  by  touches  of 
delicious  comedy  .  .  .  one  of  the  best  of  the  many  remarkable 
books  from  the  pen  of  this  clever  author. "  —  Boston  Globe. 

"  Mr.  Phillpotts  has  the  gift  of  conveying  atmosphere  in  a  re- 
markable degree  ...  a  finely  artistic  piece  of  work,"  —  Phila- 
delphia Public  Ledger. 

"  Strongly  individualized  characters,  each  the  vessel  of  some 
human  drama,  crowd  the  pages,  .  .  .  revealed  by  a  thousand 
dehcate  and  subtle  lines  of  portrayal."  —  New  York  Times. 


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Brunei's  Tower 

By  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.50 

The  regeneration  of  a  faulty  character  through  association  with 
dignified  honest  work  and  simple,  sincere  people  is  the  theme 
which  Mr.  Phillpotts  has  chosen  for  his  latest  novel.  Always  an 
artist,  he  has,  in  this  book,  made  what  will  perhaps  prove  to 
be  his  most  notable  contribution  to  literature.  Humor  and  a 
genuine  sympathetic  understanding  of  the  human  soul  are  re- 
flected throughout  it.  The  scene  is  largely  laid  in  a  pottery, 
where  a  lad,  having  escaped  from  a  reform  school,  has  sought 
shelter  and  work.  Under  the  influence  of  the  gentle,  kindly  folk 
of  the  community  he  comes  in  a  measure  to  realize  himself. 

BY  THE  SAME  AUTHOR 

Old  Delabole 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.50 

"  Besides  being  a  good  story,  richly  peopled,  and  brimful  of 
human  nature  in  its  finer  aspects,  the  book  is  seasoned  with  quiet 
humor  and  a  deal  of  mellow  wisdom." — Nezv  York  Times. 

"The  main  object  of  his  writing  is  to  make  his  readers  see 
things  as  they  are.  He  is  an  absolute  realist,  drawing  life  as  it 
is.  His  chief  mental  characteristic  is  the  way  in  which  he  always 
thinks  truth  and  faces  truth.  We  are  told  that  when  he  began  his 
story  of  the  pottery  industry  ('Brunei's  Tower')  he  lived  for 
three  months  among  the  potters,  making  friends  of  them,  learning 
the  processes,  as  Harry  Porter  does  in  the  book,  and  even  shaping 
earthenware  on  the  wheel,  until  the  red  color  of  the  clay  got  into 
the  blood  of  the  characters  he  was  creating.  With  no  less  atten- 
tion to  detail  was  '  Old  Delabole '  conceived." 


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OTHER  OF  MR.  EDEN  PHILLPOTTS'  NOVELS 

The  Three  Brothers 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.^0 

"  '  The  Three  Brothers'  seems  to  us  the  best  yet  of  the  long 
series  of  these  remarkable  Dartmoor  tales.  If  Shakespeare 
had  written  novels  we  can  think  that  some  of  his  pages  would 
have  been  like  some  of  these.  .  .  .  The  book  is  full  of  a  very 
moving  interest,  and  it  is  agreeable  and  beautiful." 

—  JVeta  York  Sun. 

Knock  at  a  Venture 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $1.^0 

Sketches  of  the  rustic  life  of  Devon,  rich  in  racy,  quaint, 
and  humorous  touches. 

The  Portreeve 

Cloth,  i2mo,  $7.50 

"  Twice,  at  least,  he  has  reached  and  even  surpassed  the 
standard  on  his  first  notable  work.  Once  was  in  '  The  Secret 
Woman.'  The  second  time  is  in  '  The  Portreeve.'  In  sheer 
mastery  of  technique  it  is  the  finest  thing  he  has  done.  From 
the  beginning  to  the  end  the  author's  touch  is  assured  and 
unfaltering.  There  is  nothing  superfluous,  nothing  unfin- 
ished. .  .  .  And  the  characters,  even  to  the  least  important, 
have  the  breath  of  life  in  them." —  T/ie  Providetue  Joicrnal. 


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The  Tree  of  Heaven 


By  may  SINCLAIR 

Cloth,  $i.6o 

A  singularly  penetrating  story  of  modem  life,  written 
in  the  author's  very  best  manner.  The  scheme,  the 
root  motive  of  the  book,  may  be  said  to  be  a  vindica- 
tion of  the  present  generation  —  the  generation  that  was 
condemned  as  neurotic  and  decadent  by  common  con- 
sent a  little  more  than  three  years  ago,  but  is  now  en- 
during the  ordeal  of  the  war  with  great  singleness  of 
heart.  This  theme,  in  Miss  Sinclair's  hands,  assumes 
big  proportions  and  gives  her  at  the  same  time  ample 
opportunity  for  character  analysis,  in  which  art  she  is 
equalled  by  few  contemporary  writers. 


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